Have a Change of Scene

Five

Back in my hotel bedroom, I lay in the dark and in despair.

Cheapie!

Spooky’s taunt rang in my ears.

Yes... Cheapie!

My head ached and I was shivering with frustration and shame. I was gutless! There must be something wrong with my mechanism! It was only when I was goaded into losing my temper that I seemed to be able to act, but in cold blood, I was as menacing as a mouse!

I knew for certain that my gutless attempt to compete with Rhea’s record was now stillborn. I knew I hadn’t the guts to make a second attempt, sure that it would lead to my arrest. I was a hopeless, useless, fumbling amateur! I had been lucky with the fat attendant. He had known as soon as he saw the gun that it was a toy, and he had dismissed me with the contempt I deserved.

My mind switched to Rhea. My body ached for her. I was past telling myself I was crazy, that the evil and the viciousness in her could destroy me. There was her siren’s song hammering in my mind, and it was irresistible.

I remembered what she had said: When you have me it ‘ll cost you more than a meal. I remembered how she had looked, standing there, her green eyes full of sexual promises, her body slightly arched towards me, her sensual smile.

And now I didn’t give a damn what it would cost me! Gone was my arrogant confidence that I would have her for nothing. I had to have her! I had to have her even on her own terms! What would she want? Jenny had written in her report that this woman had been a prostitute. Suppose I offered her two hundred dollars? That was a hell of a price to pay a whore. She wouldn’t refuse two hundred dollars! Maybe once I had taken her, I would get her out of my system.

I began to relax, although my head still ached. Impatiently, I got out of bed, threw eight Aspro tablets into my mouth and washed them down. I got back to bed and waited for the pills to work. Money bought anything, I told myself, providing you had enough money. I would buy her! She has this obsession about getting rich, Jenny had said. Rhea, I told myself, would jump at two hundred dollars. I didn’t care now that I was buying her. My overpowering lust that was tormenting me demanded the sight of her naked, on a bed. Then once I had taken her, once this lust was satisfied, I would return to Paradise City and forget her.

Still thinking, I finally fell asleep.

The following morning, feeling much more confident, I went to the local bank and cashed five one-hundred dollar Traveller’s cheques. Just to be on the safe side, I told myself. I would offer her two hundred and go to five if I had to, but I was sure she would grab the two hundred.

I returned to where I had parked the Buick, started the motor, then as I was about to engage gear, I remembered her brother. Would he be there? Would he be hanging around that sordid little bungalow? My fingers tightened on the driving wheel. I couldn’t make my offer if he were in the bungalow.

This was a problem and a wave of sick frustration ran through me. I turned off the ignition, got out of the car and started down the street. It was too early. The City Hall clock was striking ten o’clock. I had to contain my impatience. I would have to wait until at least midday and even then, I couldn’t be sure the brother would be away at work. I walked aimlessly, not seeing anyone, Rhea burning a hole in my mind. I wandered around like that until the City Hall clock struck eleven. By then I was fit to climb a tree. I went into a bar and called for a double Scotch on the rocks.

The drink steadied me a little. I lit a cigarette and just as I was going to call for another drink, I saw Fel Morgan across the street, getting out of a dusty 1960 Buick.

I hurriedly paid for my drink and went quickly to the bar entrance. Fel was already walking away, his hands in his jeans pockets: a tight, dirty white Tee shirt outlining his powerful muscles.

I went after him, following him to a scrap metal yard. I paused to watch him enter and wave to a fat man in overalls who was struggling with a vast lump of rusty metal.

With my heart hammering and my breath coming in gasps, I spun round and raced back along the street to where I had parked my car. I sent it shooting towards Highway 3.

Twenty minutes later I was bumping up the dirt road that led to the Morgan’s bungalow.

I kept muttering to myself: ‘Please God, let her be in!’

As I pulled up outside the bungalow, I saw the front door was standing open. I switched off the motor and sat still, my hands gripping the steering wheel, listening to the thump of my heart while I stared at the open door. I sat there for a minute or so, then I got out of the car and, in a sexual fever, walked slowly over the rough grass, picking my way through the litter.

As I reached the open front door, Rhea appeared in the doorway that led to the sitting room.

We stood looking at each other.

She had smartened herself up since last I had seen her. She had on a skimpy cotton dress that reached to just above her knees. Her legs and feet were bare. Around her neck was a cheap blue necklace. Her face was as cold and as expressionless as ever and her green eyes as cynical.

‘Hello,’ she said in her husky voice that sent shivers through me. ‘What do you want?’

Trying to keep my voice steady, I said, ‘You know what I want.’

She studied me and then stepped back. ‘Better come in and talk about it.’

I followed her into the sordid little room. A chipped coffee pot and two used cups stood on the table. A tin ashtray, spilling over with butts, made a centre-piece.

I watched her walk over to the ruined armchair and sink into it. Her dress rode up to her thighs and as she crossed her legs I caught a glimpse of blue panties.

‘I thought the idea was you were going to wait until I came to you.’ She reached for a pack of cigarettes lying on the table.

‘How much?’ I said hoarsely. ‘Don’t light that! How much and let’s get on with it!’

She struck a match and lit the cigarette and she smiled jeeringly.

‘Man! How you want it,’ she said.

With a shaking hand I took two one-hundred dollar bills from my hip pocket and tossed them into her lap.

‘Let’s get on with it!’

She picked up the bills and regarded them, her face expressionless, then she looked up at me. I was hoping to see a flash of greed, even pleasure, but this cold mask of a face chilled me.

‘What’s this supposed to be for? Two hundred bucks? You want your head examined.’

That was the most truthful thing I was ever to hear from her, but I didn’t give a damn. I wanted her with an urgency that was close to madness and I was going to have her.

I pulled out the remaining three one-hundred dollar bills and threw them at her. Although I lusted for her, I have never hated anyone as I now hated her.

‘That’s more than you’re worth, but take it!’ I said violently. ‘Now, let’s get on with it!’

Slowly and deliberately she folded the five bills neatly and put them on the table. She leaned back in the chair, letting smoke drift down her thin nostrils while she regarded me.

‘There was a time when I got laid for a dollar,’ she said. ‘There was a time when I got laid for twenty dollars. There was even a time when I got laid for a hundred dollars. When you spend years in a cell, you have time to think. I know what men want. I know what you want and I know I have it and I want money: not a hundred dollars nor five hundred dollars nor five thousand dollars: I want real money! There are old, fat, stupid creeps in this country worth millions. I think in millions. I’m going to find one of these old, fat stupid creeps and I’m going to sell him my body for real money. It’ll take time, but I’ll get him.’ She flicked a contemptuous finger at the money on the table. ‘Take it away, Cheapie. My legs stay crossed until I find a creep with the money I want.’

I stood there, staring at her.

‘Can’t you use five hundred dollars?’

‘Not your five hundred dollars.’

I wanted her so badly I lost what was left of my pride.

‘Why not? Five hundred dollars for half an hour. Come on... take the money and let’s get on with it.’

‘You heard what I said, Mr. Larry Diamonds Carr.’

I stiffened and stared at her.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I know who you are. Fel found out. He got your car number and checked Paradise City. You’re a well-known character, aren’t you, Mr. Larry Diamonds Carr?’

A red light lit up through my madness, warning me to get away from this woman and stay away, but I was too far gone, and after a moment the red light faded to nothing.

‘What does it matter who I am?’ I said. ‘I’m like any other man! Take the money and strip off!’

‘If you don’t take it, baby, I will,’ Fel said from behind me.

I whirled around to find him leaning up against the door frame, watching me, an evil little grin lighting up his face.

The sight of him brought alive a flicker of that insane rage I had experienced before, and he saw it in my eyes.

‘Take it easy, buster,’ he said. ‘I’m on your side. This bitch is only playing hard to get. You want me to fix her for you?’

Rhea got swiftly to her feet and snatched up the money from the table which she crumpled in her fist.

‘You come near me, you creep,’ she snarled at her brother, ‘and I’ll hook your goddam eyes out!’

He laughed.

‘And she would too,’ he said to me. ‘Suppose we all cool off and chat it up? We’ve been talking about you. We could do a trade. How about swopping some of those diamonds you deal in for some pussy?’

I stared at her.

‘How about it, buster?’ he went on. ‘She’ll play. It was her idea when I told her who you were. You won’t get it without diamonds. Let’s chat it up.’

‘Give me back my money,’ I said to her.

She smiled jeeringly as she shook her head.

‘I’ve changed my mind. I can use five hundred bucks even if it’s yours. And don’t try to get it from me. Fel and me can take care of you. Think over what Fel’s said. If you want it bad enough, diamonds will buy it. Not one diamond, but a lot of diamonds. Think about it. Now... get out!’

I looked at Fel and saw he was holding a short iron bar in his hand.

‘Don’t try it, buster,’ he said. ‘You’ll only get a cracked nut. I wasn’t ready for you the first time, but I am now. Think about it. Now, scram!’

He edged back to give me room to pass him.

I hated him.

I hated her too, but my blood still lusted for her.

I went out into the hot smog, across the rough grass and debris and returned to the Buick.

I don’t remember driving back to the hotel. I became aware that I was lying on the bed with the mid-morning haze lighting up the cement dust on the window facing me.

A black depression filled my mind. Even Rhea had called me Cheapie! God! How I hated her! I felt a sudden urge to kill myself. I lay on the bed, asking myself: Why not? Suddenly this seemed to me to be the solution. Why go on? Why let this woman torment me any longer?

But how do I kill myself? I wondered.

A razor? I used an electric shaver.

Aspirins? I had only six left.

Jump out of the window?

I could kill someone in the crowded street.

I looked feverishly around the room. There was nothing that would support my weight on which to hang myself.

The car?

Yes! I’d take the car and at high-speed crash it into a tree. Yes! I would do that!

I struggled off the bed, fumbling in my pockets for the car keys. I couldn’t find them. Where had I put them? I looked wildly around the room and saw them lying on the dusty chest-of-drawers. As I moved towards them, the telephone bell rang.

For a long moment I hesitated, then I snatched up the receiver.

‘Larry... my dear boy!’

My black cloud of depression and madness lifted at the sound of Sydney Fremlin’s voice. I found I was shaking and sweating. I dropped on to the bed.

‘Hi, Sydney.’ My voice was a croak.

‘Larry, you must come back!’ I could tell by his voice that he was in the middle of a major crisis. The pitch of his voice told me he was like a bee captured in a bottle and buzzing like crazy.

‘What is it?’ I said, wiping the sweat off my face with the back of my hand.

‘Larry, precious, I simply can’t talk over an open line! Some dreadful person may be listening in! You just have to come back! Mrs. P. wants to sell you-know-what! I can’t possibly handle this — only clever you can do it! You do know what I’m trying to say, don’t you, Larry? This is absolutely, terribly top secret! Do tell me you understand?’

Mrs. P.

I drew in a long slow breath as my mind went back five years when I had brought off my biggest diamond sale for Luce & Fremlin. Mrs. Henry Jason Plessington, the wife of one of the richest estate men in Florida — and they don’t come richer — had wanted a diamond necklace. She had been a client of Luce & Fremlin for years. Until I had arrived as their diamond expert, Sydney had sold her this and that, but nothing really big. But when I arrived on the scene, had met her, had learned how rich her husband was, I saw the possibility of unloading something really big on her. Sydney fluttered and buzzed, saying I was far too ambitious when I explained the idea I had, but I turned on the charm and talked to this middle-aged woman, stressing that nothing but the best was for her. She reacted to this sales talk like a plant reacts to a dose of fertiliser. Having got her so far, I talked to her about diamonds. I said it was my ambition to create a diamond necklace that would be the end of all diamond necklaces. I explained how I would search for matching stones. It would give me pleasure to know that the end product would be hers. She lapped this up the way a cat laps cream.

‘But how do I know I will like it?’ she asked. ‘Your taste might not be my taste.’

I had expected her to say just this, and I was ready for the answer. I said, apart from showing her a design on paper, I would get a Chinese diamond cutter I knew in Hong Kong to make a mock-up of the necklace in glass. She could then judge for herself. The cost of the mock-up would be around $5,000. Naturally, if she decided to have the mock-up turned into the real thing the $5,000 would come off the bill.

She had said for me to go ahead.

I got Sydney to design the necklace on paper. He had a flair for this kind of thing, and he produced a real beauty.

‘But, Larry, in diamonds this will cost the earth!’ he exclaimed as we studied his design. ‘She’ll never stand for it! It’ll cost a million!’

‘It’ll cost more than that,’ I said, ‘but leave it to me. I’ll talk her into talking her husband into it. He’s stinking rich.’

Mrs. P. approved the design which was a step forward. I was hoping she would tell me to go ahead and make the necklace in diamonds, but she had still to work on her husband and she liked the idea of seeing the design in glass.

It took two months for my man in Hong Kong to produce the glass necklace and what a job he made of it! Only a top expert would know these stones weren’t diamonds. It was so good I had an uneasy feeling that Mrs. P. might settle for the mock-up and swank to her friends that it was the real thing.

I went to Plessington’s enormous villa, overlooking the sea, with a Rolls Corniche and a Bentley T standing on the tarmac, I laid the glass necklace on a pad of black velvet and watched her face. She went practically into a swoon. Then I draped the necklace around her fat neck and led her to a full-length mirror.

Then I turned on the sales talk.

‘These, of course, as you can see, Mrs. Plessington,’ I said, ‘are made of glass. Also as you can see there is no life in them (which wasn’t true), but I want you to imagine each one of these glass beads as living fire... the fire of diamonds.’

She stood there, entranced, looking at herself: a stout, middle-aged woman with a flabby bosom, her neck beginning to wrinkle.

‘Even Elizabeth Taylor would want a necklace like this is going to be.’

Then I unclasped the necklace before she got the wrong idea and settled for glass rather than diamonds.

‘But what is it going to cost?’

This, of course, was the sixty-four-thousand dollar question. I explained that to create a necklace like this with diamonds, I would have to search the world for matching stones. Having found them, they would have to be cut by experts, then they would have to be set in platinum which would also have to be done by experts. All this would cost money. I lifted my hands and gave her my charming smile. I knew, as she knew, it wouldn’t be her money that would pay for this necklace. She would have to put the bite on her husband. I pointed out that diamonds lived for ever. They never lost their value. Her husband’s money would be invested safely. I let her absorb all this, then told her, making my voice completely casual, that the necklace would cost in the region of one million and a half dollars.

She didn’t even flinch. Why should she? It would be her husband who would do the flinching. She sat there, a fat heap in a Normal Hartnell creation, a faraway look in her eyes. I could imagine she was thinking how her friends would envy her, what a status symbol this necklace would be and even, perhaps, Liz Taylor, would envy her.

So eventually, Mrs. P got her diamond necklace, the biggest sale Luce & Fremlin had ever made and due to me. The final cost of the necklace was one million eight hundred thousand dollars.

Mrs. P. and the necklace got a big press coverage. There were photographs of her in the papers wearing the necklace with her husband hovering in the background, looking as if he had bitten into a quince. She showed off the necklace at the Casino, the opera, the Country Club and had a ball. Then a month later one of her closest friends who owned a diamond necklace that I wouldn’t have offered to any of my clients, got knocked over the head and the necklace snatched. The woman never recovered from the attack and had to be taken care of by a nurse.

This attack scared the pants off Mrs. P. who only then realised that her one million, eight-hundred thousand dollar string of diamonds could be a source of lethal danger. She promptly put the necklace in a safe deposit box at her bank and refused to wear it.

All this took place five years ago, and now, according to Sydney, she wanted to sell the necklace.

I knew, as Sydney knew, that during the past three years, Mrs. P. had become a compulsive gambler. Every night she was to be found at the Casino, plunging. Her husband let her gamble because, apart from selling large slices of Florida and putting up skyscrapers wherever there was a space for them, he was a ram. While his wife was spending most of the night gambling he was in the hay with any girl who caught his eye. But Plessington looked after his money, and every so often he would check up on his wife’s gambling debts and crack down on her. Mrs. P. never won. Knowing this background, it wasn’t hard to see that she must now be up to her eyes in secret debt and had decided to sell the necklace before her husband found out what she owed.

‘Larry?’ Sydney’s voice crackled over the line. ‘Are you listening?’

I didn’t give a damn about Mrs. P., the necklace nor come to that, Sydney. Rhea was still burning a hole in my mind.

‘I’m listening,’ I said.

‘For pity’s sake, concentrate, Larry,’ Sydney said urgently. ‘Please... for my sake! You must come back! I can’t imagine what you are doing in that dreadful town! Do say you will come back and help me!’

Again the nudge of destiny. A few minutes ago I was thinking of suicide. If Sydney had wanted me to do anything else except try to resell the Plessington necklace I would have hung up on him. But this necklace, up to now, had been my greatest achievement. I had gained my reputation as one of the top diamond men by creating it.

My depression suddenly went away. My mind worked swiftly. Maybe another change of scene would get Rhea out of my blood, but I wanted a back door through which to escape if the need arose.

‘I’m still not right, Sydney,’ I said. ‘I get headaches and concentration isn’t easy. If I come back and sell you-know-what, will you give me more time off if I need it?’

‘Of course, dear boy! I’ll do more than that. I’ll give you one percent on the take and you can have six months off if you want it. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?’

‘What does she want for it?’

He buzzed like a bee trapped in a bottle again before saying, ‘I haven’t discussed it with her. She’s panting for money. I said I would consult you and you would talk to her.’

Again I hesitated, thinking of Rhea, then I made up my mind.

‘All right. I’ll leave right away. I should be with you the day after tomorrow.’

‘Don’t come by car. Come by air taxi. I’ll pick up the tab,’ Sydney said. ‘You don’t know what a relief this is to me! Let’s have a quiet dinner together. We’ll meet around nine o’clock at La Palma... what do you say?’

La Palma was one of the most expensive and exclusive restaurants in Paradise City. Sydney was certainly anxious to please.

‘It’s a date,’ I said and hung up.

During the two-hour flight back to Paradise City, while I was sitting in the little cabin, a thought like a black snake wriggling into a room slid into my mind.

There are old, fat, stupid creeps in this country worth millions.

Rhea had said that.

Why should I wait to become old, fat and stupid?

Why shouldn’t I become suddenly immensely rich?

I thought of Mrs. P.’s necklace. One million eight hundred thousand dollars! In my position as a top diamond man, knowing the big diamond dealers throughout the world, I was sure I would have no trouble in selling the stones, always providing I was careful. These dealers would jump at anything I had to offer. I had often sold diamonds to them for Sydney, who always wanted to be paid in cash. The dealers never questioned this, as when Sydney bought from them he also paid cash, and — what was important — they accepted my receipt.

By breaking up the necklace, selling the stones to various dealers would present no problem. In my position at Luce & Fremlin I would have no need to worry, as Sydney no longer kept contact with these dealers. He left them to me to handle. They would pay me cash, thinking the money was going to Sydney and I would put the money in a Swiss bank. Disposing of the necklace was the least of my headaches, but stealing it so that no one suspected me was something else.

This seemed to me to be a challenge. Maybe I was useless as a hold-up man and gutless when it came to stealing a car, but this operation of stealing the necklace, although a problem, was, at least, in my neck of the woods.

I spent the next hour as the little plane droned on to Paradise City thinking of ways and means.

I found Sydney sitting in a discreet alcove, toying with a double martini. The maître d’ of La Palma restaurant conducted me to him as if I were a member of a Royal family.

As usual, the restaurant was crowded and I had to pause at several tables where my clients greeted me and asked after my health, but finally I reached the alcove and Sydney gripped my hand.

‘Larry, dear boy, you just don’t know how I appreciate this!’ he gushed and there were tears in his eyes. ‘You don’t look well... you look peaky. How are you? Was the flight a strain? I hate myself for bringing you back here, but you do understand, don’t you?’

‘I’m all right,’ I said. ‘Don’t fuss, Sydney. The flight was fine.’

But he wouldn’t leave it alone. First, he ordered a double dry martini for me, and when the maître d’ had gone he asked questions about my health, what I had been doing with myself and finally if I had missed him.

I was used to his buzzing and finally cut him short.

‘Look, Sydney, let’s get down to business. I’m a little tired, and after dinner I want to go to bed, so don’t let’s waste time about my health.’

The dry martini arrived and Sydney then ordered caviar, a lobster soufflé and champagne.

‘Will that be all right, Larry?’ he asked. ‘It’s light and nourishing and you will sleep well on it.’

I said it would be fine.

‘So she wants to sell the necklace?’ I said when the maître d’ had gone away, snapping his fingers at two waiters to ensure we got top service.

‘She came in yesterday... quivering like a jelly,’ Sydney said. ‘I’ve known the poor thing for years, and she regards me as one of her closest friends. She confessed to me she just had to have a large sum of money and Henry mustn’t know. I thought at first she was going to put the bite on me, and my brain was simply spinning to think of an excuse, but she came right out with it. She had to sell the necklace, and Henry must — repeat — must not know. What would I give her for it?’

‘Gambling again?’

‘She didn’t say, but of course... she must be in the hole for thousands. Of course, as soon as I knew what was in the wind, I enveloped myself in a smoke screen. I said you would have to deal with the sale. You were my diamond man and you could be relied on to be as silent as the tomb. I said you were out of town, but as soon as you came back I would ask you to call on her. The poor thing nearly peed herself. She said she couldn’t wait. When would you be back? It was terribly, terribly urgent. I said I would try to get you back tonight, and we left it at that. Well, you’re back. Will you see her tomorrow morning, Larry? You have no idea the state she’s in. She’s a nice, silly stupid and I hate to see her suffer. You will see her, won’t you?’

‘That’s why I’m here.’

The caviar arrived, and while we were buttering the toast I went on, ‘You have no idea how much she wants?’

‘I kept my little mouth shut about that. I didn’t want to spoil your ploy. I didn’t ask questions. It’s all yours, Larry.’

I spread the caviar on the toast.

‘This could be tricky, Sydney,’ I said. ‘You realise, of course, the necklace will have to be broken up? We couldn’t hope to sell it as it is. Publicity would start up again and if Plessington saw a photo of some other woman wearing the necklace, Mrs. P. would be shot down. I’ve been thinking about this in the plane. We could do a hell of a deal for ourselves: we might even sell those diamonds for two million dollars, but it would have to be worked carefully.’

Sydney’s eyes bulged.

‘Two million?’

‘The way I see it is this: I go talk to Mrs. P. I explain that if she is willing for us to sell the necklace as it stands, we will pay her a million, eight hundred thousand — what she paid for it. From what you tell me — and I’ll underline that the resale of the necklace will receive the same press treatment as when she bought it — once she knows this, she will be too scared to let us sell it as it is. Over that hurdle, I will explain to her the necklace will lose a lot of its value once it is broken up. I will tell her it will mean trying to sell the stones separately, and we couldn’t offer her more than nine hundred thousand... half the original price. If she agrees to this — and she might — then you pay her nine hundred thousand, and we have the necklace.’ I held up my hand as he was about to interrupt. ‘Let me finish. You must design a diamond collar that will take all Mrs. P.’s diamonds. I’ll get Chan to make up the collar and I’ll look around for someone either in South America or India or the Middle East and unload the collar on whoever it is for two million. You will then be making one million one hundred thousand dollars profit which seems to me to be a pretty nice deal.’

He sat back, his caviar forgotten. For a long moment he stared at me.

‘But we can’t do that!’ He looked shocked. ‘We can’t make a profit like that out of that poor, poor thing.’

‘This is business, Sydney,’ I said, spreading more caviar. ‘You ask Tom if we can’t do it.’

He threw up his hands.

‘Tom has the soul of a computer and a heart of a cash register.’

‘That’s why you are eating caviar.’

He munched for a few moments while he brooded.

‘You really think you can sell this necklace for two million?’

‘Why not?’ I was sure I couldn’t, but this was the bait I had decided to dangle under Sydney’s nose. ‘Even the Burtons might buy it for that, but it would be up to you to design a collar that would make every other diamond collar yet designed second class.’

His eyes brightened. This was the kind of challenge Sydney loved.

‘I’m sure I could do that! What a wonderful idea, Larry! What a clever puss you are!’

I saw I had him sold and I began to relax. We paused to drink some champagne, then I edged on to the really thin ice.

‘This will take time, Sydney. I’ll have to fly to Hong Kong. Chan will take at least a month to make the collar. It’ll take at least three or even five months to sell the collar. In the meantime what happens to Mrs. P.?’

He gaped at me. This hadn’t occurred to him.

‘I knew it was too good to be true! She can’t wait! I don’t believe she can wait a week!’

The waiter came and took away the plates. We both sat silent until the lobster soufflé was served and the waiter had withdrawn.

I then dropped my little bomb: not knowing if it would go off or not.

‘As I see it, Sydney, if we’re going to do this deal, you’ll have to lend her the money until the collar is sold.’

His eyes opened wide.

‘Nine hundred thousand?’ His voice went up into a squeak.

‘You lend it to her at six percent and finally you sell the necklace for two million,’ I said. ‘Ask Tom if this isn’t an outstanding deal.’

‘But I can’t afford to lend her all that money!’

‘I’m not saying you lend her the money. The firm lends it to her.’

‘Tom would never, never lend anyone anything even if it was Nixon!’

‘Okay, so you lend the money. Your bank will give you an overdraft. What have you to lose? You will get the necklace. Even if I can’t get two million for it — and I think I can — I’ll get what she paid for it. Even at that you will be doubling your money. Come on, Sydney... this is a chance in a lifetime!’

He forked some of the soufflé into his mouth while he thought, and I saw a sudden greedy look come into his eyes.

‘Tom needn’t know about this, need he?’ he said. ‘I mean suppose I put up the money — my own personal money — then when you sell the necklace what you get would be my personal money... wouldn’t it?’

‘That’s right... less one percent commission for me.’

He looked at me a little narrowly. I saw he hadn’t thought of paying me a commission.

‘Yes... one percent to you,’ and by his expression I saw he was trying to do sums in his head.

‘You will give me eighteen thousand dollars and you will deduct Mrs. P.’s nine hundred thousand and you will add Mrs. P.’s six percent on your loan and you will net yourself roughly eight hundred and eighty thousand which seems to me to be a nice profit.’

He thought some more, then, finally, he said, ‘I’ve got even a better idea, Larry, dear boy. Suppose you try to persuade Mrs. P. to sell the necklace outright for seven hundred and fifty thousand? After all it isn’t her money. I could sell stock to cover this amount, and then the necklace would be mine and I wouldn’t have to worry about Tom, would I? If I did that and you sold the diamonds for two millions, I could make a million and a quarter... that’s pretty handsome, isn’t it?’

‘I thought you didn’t want to make a profit out of the poor, poor thing,’ I said, trying to look shocked.

He shifted uneasily.

‘After all it was you who said this is business.’ He paused to peer at me. ‘Do you think you could persuade her to sell at that price?’

‘No harm in trying.’ I finished the last of the soufflé.

‘See what you can do tomorrow, Larry. I’m sure you can pull it off.’ Sydney snapped his fingers at a waiter and ordered coffee. ‘I tell you what I’ll do... you get the necklace for seven hundred and fifty thousand and I’ll give you two percent on the deal. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?’

‘And my air ticket to Hong Kong and all expenses,’ I said knowing there would be no Hong Kong.

‘Naturally, dear boy.’

‘Does Terry know about Mrs. P.?’

‘Don’t mention that unspeakable boy! I really must get rid of him!’ Sydney flushed with annoyance. ‘He really is becoming quite, quite impossible!’

‘Never mind that... does he know?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Are you sure? Mrs. P. came to see you. Didn’t he want to know what she wanted?’

‘We are not even speaking to each other!’

‘He couldn’t have listened?’ I was nervous of Terry. He knew too much about diamonds for safety.

‘No... no! When Mrs. P. came in, he was busy with a client.’

‘Okay. He mustn’t know, Sydney. In fact, no one must know, or Tom will get to hear about it. Strictly speaking, this deal should go through the firm. Tom would have reason to complain if he knew what we are planning to do.’

Sydney again shifted uneasily. He knew this as well as I did.

‘If I buy the necklace with my own money,’ he said a little defiantly, ‘it is nothing to do with Tom.’

‘But Mrs. P. is a client of the firm,’ I pointed out. I wanted to give him a guilt complex. ‘Now look, Sydney, so as to keep the firm out of it, you had better design the collar at home and not at the office. If I get the necklace you had better keep it at home and not at the office.’

He wasn’t to know it, but this was vital to my plan.

He didn’t hesitate.

‘Yes... we’ll keep it strictly between ourselves.’ He looked trustingly at me. ‘You will help with the collar, Larry?’

He had a goddamn nerve, I thought. He knew, without me he couldn’t make the collar nor persuade Mrs. P. to part with her necklace at this outrageous price, yet he was planning to make himself an enormous profit, keeping Tom Luce out of it and only offering me a miserable two percent.

‘You know you can rely on me,’ I said.

During the flight in the air-taxi and while thinking how I could steal the necklace in safety, I kept having qualms about Sydney because if my plan worked, he had to be the loser, but now he was showing his greed, my qualms vanished.

If he had said to me, ‘Look, Larry, let’s split fifty-fifty. You do all the work and I’ll put up the capital,’ I wouldn’t have gone through with it, but as he was so goddamn greedy and selfish, only offering me two percent, I there and then made up my mind to go ahead with my plan. He now didn’t give a damn about twisting Mrs. P.’s arm, so why should I care about twisting his?

The scene I had with Mrs. P. is best forgotten. She didn’t actually call Sydney a thief, but she implied it. She wept and wrung her fat hands. She stormed around the big lounge, making herself look ridiculous. She accused me of lying, reminding me that I had told her diamonds lived for ever and never lost their value. To this I reminded her the necklace would have to be broken up, and if she could wait for a year or so I would get at least a million and a half for the diamonds and platinum, but as she wanted the money at once this was the best Sydney could do.

Finally, she calmed down. After all, three-quarters of a million dollars when it isn’t your loss isn’t to be sneezed at. She hadn’t thought that if we tried to sell the necklace as it was, there would be publicity, and this finally brought her to heel.

She said she would accept the cheque I had ready which Sydney had given me, but she added she would never deal with Luce & Fremlin again.

I made the usual tactful remarks, but I couldn’t care less.

Then she came up with something so unexpected that for a long moment it threw me.

‘The least you can do is to give me the glass necklace,’ she said. ‘It’s the least you can do! If ever my husband wants to see the necklace I can show him the imitation. He won’t know the difference.’

She wasn’t to know, of course, but the glass necklace was the pivot on which my plan revolved. Without it, my plan to make myself two million dollars just didn’t exist.

After Sydney had delivered the genuine necklace to Mrs. P., five years ago, he had asked me about the glass replica.

There was a mean streak in Sydney, and he hated wasting a dollar. I said it was in the safe and what about it? He asked if I couldn’t send it back to Chan and get a rebate on it? Would Chan give us a credit for it... a possible three thousand dollars? What did we want with a glass replica?

The necklace had been a creation of which I was proud. I had had some luck on the stock market at the time and was feeling wealthy. I said I would return the replica to Chan and ask him what he would offer, but I didn’t do that. I kept the necklace as a souvenir. When Sydney asked what had happened, I said Chan had paid me two thousand five hundred dollars for it, and I gave him my personal cheque.

Now, here was Mrs. P. asking for the replica.

After a moment, I said that it had been broken up and the stones used for other mock-ups.

She nearly blew her stack at hearing this and insisted that we should get another imitation made at once. I said I would, of course, arrange this for her, but she must realise this would take at least three months. She had to be content with that.

We went together in her Rolls to her bank, and she got the necklace from the safe deposit bank. It was in a plush leather box lined with black velvet. I hadn’t seen the necklace for some four years. Its beauty made me draw in a sharp breath. I handed her the cheque, and she handed me the necklace.

She nearly fell up the stairs from the vault to pay the cheque in. I left her talking to the manager and took a taxi back to my apartment.

I unlocked my wall safe and took out the glass necklace. I laid the replica and the genuine necklaces side by side on the table and studied them.

Sydney was strictly a designer. He was no diamond expert, and I was sure he wouldn’t know which was which. Chan had done a marvellous job, even Terry might be fooled until he examined the stones, then, of course, he would know, but Terry wasn’t having the chance of examining them. I had taken care of that hurdle.

I put the glass necklace into the leather case and the genuine necklace into the plastic case which I put in my safe.

Then I called Sydney at the shop. I told him everything was fine. He buzzed as usual like a bee trapped in a bottle, said for me to meet him at his penthouse in half an hour.

Sydney’s penthouse was magnificent. It overlooked the sea. It had a vast living room, tastefully decorated, four bedrooms, a swimming pool on the terrace, a fountain in the hall and all the gimmicks a rich queer knew how to use.

He was waiting for me as I arrived.

‘How did she take it?’ he wanted to know, leading me into the big room, eyeing the brown paper parcel I was carrying.

‘As you might expect. She didn’t exactly call you a thief, but that’s what she implied. She said she would never darken our doors again.’

Sydney sighed.

‘I thought the poor thing might react that way. Well, we must be brave about it. After all, she hasn’t spent anything with us for the past few years.’ He continued to stare at the parcel. ‘Is that it?’

This was the moment. I moved into a patch of sunlight, stripped off the brown paper and opened the case. The sunlight gave a sparkle to the glass, and Sydney gaped at the necklace.

‘It’s marvellous, Larry! It really is marvellous! Clever you! And now, I must get down to work.’ He took the case from me, looked again at the necklace, then closed the case. The first, most important test seemed to have succeeded.

‘I’ll get out some designs and then we’ll discuss them. I’ve got the weekend ahead of me.’

‘That reminds me, Sydney, I’ve left my car at Luceville. I’ll fly up there tomorrow and bring it back. Okay for me to take Monday off?’

‘Of course! I’ll have something we can work on by then.’ I watched him walk over to a Picasso, take it down and open the wall safe which the picture concealed. I knew this safe. It was highly complicated and sophisticated: not the kind of safe you can get into without getting a load of law in your lap. He put the case into the safe, shut the safe and rehung the picture. He beamed at me. ‘Keep Tuesday evening free, Larry. Come here. We’ll have a little supper together and then we can go over my designs... say at eight o’clock?’

‘Fine. Okay, Sydney, I’ll get back to the shop.’

On the way back, sitting in a taxi, I thought in less than twenty-four hours I would be seeing Rhea.