Royal Heist

7

De Jersey played the perfect host to his in-laws. At the Tower of London, when they followed the guide into the main chamber where the jewels were on display, de Jersey was so eager to hear the guide’s description that he kept stepping on the man’s heels. Then he stopped dead. There, in all its glory, was the Queen Mother’s platinum crown with the dazzling Koh-i-noor Diamond. Ahead, he noticed an empty case and a small plaque stating “In Use.” A thought struck him: the jewels were occasionally taken out of the Tower. He hurried to ask the guide.

“The empty display back there, what’s the crown being used for?” he asked.

“The Queen has gone to Norway and will be wearing some of the jewels.”

“Could there be an occasion when they are all in use?”

“I doubt it. There’ll be a few cases empty for the Golden Jubilee celebrations, but if there’s not a good enough selection, we offer reductions.”

“What crown will Her Majesty be wearing for the Jubilee?”

The guide shuffled impatiently. “One of the smaller ones. That one”-he pointed to the crown with the Koh-i-noor Diamond-“weighs a ton. There’s over a hundred carats’ worth of diamond in that one big stone alone. Would you mind moving on now, sir? The next tour is coming through.” He moved on toward a display case. De Jersey barely glanced at the sumptuous crown as he walked away.

James Wilcox arrived at the Ritz early. He was wearing one of his designer suits. Over the years he had become fastidious about his clothes and accessories. He ordered a vodka martini at the bar. De Jersey had booked a suite on the second floor under the name of Simmons, as usual. Wilcox ate the cashew nuts provided and unwrapped a cigar.

“How you doing, my old son?” Driscoll said, plonking himself down on a stool next to him.

“I’ve been better. I’ve been over it all with that assistant at Lyons’s office.”

“Tell me about it.” Driscoll ordered a chilled glass of Chablis.

“I’m skint. You able to salvage anything?”

“I’ve got a few thousand here and there, own some property, but… yeah, bulk went into the leading fucking leisurewear.”

“Fuck me. Pair of us must have been crazy. I remember Ronnie Jersey saying to me once, ‘Tony, learn from these punters coming in day after day. You might get lucky once, but you’ll have ten nonrunners and it’s not worth throwing hard-earned money away.’ I kept on pouring everything I had into that damn company.”

“Schmucks the pair of us.” Wilcox drained his martini.

“I remember one day at Ronnie’s, we’d got a surefire winner. In those days there was none of the TV sets in the betting shops, and we listened to the radio.”

“Don’t start the Ronnie Jersey stories again,” Wilcox moaned.

“I’m not, I’m not, I am just saying-”

“I’m not in the mood.” Wilcox sucked on his olive.

“Oh, excuse me for living.”

They sat in silence a moment.

Driscoll looked at Wilcox’s suit. “What’s with the satin lining?”

“I like it.”

“Bit bright, isn’t it? Suit’s a good cut, though. Pity to ruin it with the cuffs turned back like that.”

“I ordered the cuffs that way!” Wilcox snapped.

“How much that suit set you back then? Go on.”

“With thirty-odd million, I wasn’t quibbling over how much a friggin’ suit was going to set me back. Change the subject.”

Driscoll took out a slim cigar. “You want one of these?”

“No. You want another drink?”

Driscoll nodded. Wilcox signaled the barman.

“You see that race then…”

“Tony, I don’t wanna hear about fucking Ronnie and-”

“I’m not talking about the old days. I’m talking about Ascot; the Colonel’s horse romped home. Royal Flush. It’s called Royal Flush.”

“You know something that you do,” Wilcox said. “You’ve always done it. You repeat things twice.”

“I do not. I don’t.”

“Yes you do, you just did it then.”

“I didn’t. No, I did not.”

“You just did it again!”

Driscoll then leaned in close. “He’s here. Shit, he looks good. See him talking to the doorman?”

De Jersey was a hard man to miss, in his brown trilby and a brown tweed suit. He looked very much the racing gentleman, right down to his checked shirt and brown brogues. He made his way to the restaurant and disappeared.

“What’s he doing? Isn’t he goin’ up to the suite?”

“Looks like he’s gonna have lunch.”

At the entrance to the Ritz restaurant, de Jersey was chatting with the maître d’. Then he returned to the lobby as if to leave the hotel. But instead of going toward the front door, he turned sharply and headed for the stairs.

“He’s putting himself about a bit, isn’t he?” Driscoll said softly.

“I reckon it’s time we went. Split up as usual, okay?”

Wilcox tapped on the door and entered. The spacious suite was furnished with elegant, Regency-style furniture and thick gold curtains. A polished mahogany table displayed salmon, cheese, and a large bowl of fruit salad with cream. De Jersey was opening a bottle of champagne.

“Tony’s coming up via the stairs,” Wilcox said, closing the door. “You look fit-all that riding, I suppose.”

“You’re in pretty good shape yourself,” de Jersey said. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“So am I.”

De Jersey popped the cork and placed the bottle in the ice bucket. “Good to see you, Jimmy.”

“Yeah, we go back a long way, you and me.” Wilcox crossed the room to hug him.

Driscoll came into the room as Wilcox was accepting a glass of champagne.

“Christ, my knees. I tell you, I’m falling apart. I got to the second floor and thought I was having a heart attack.” He shook hands with de Jersey. “Still holding up well. How do you think the years have treated me, then?” Of the three men, Driscoll showed his age the most.

De Jersey poured him a glass of champagne, then made a toast. “To meeting under better circumstances next time.”

When de Jersey sat down, they followed suit, chatting relaxedly about their families, then enjoying their meal. Driscoll remembered to congratulate de Jersey on his win at Royal Ascot.

“It’s the Derby next,” de Jersey enthused. “He’ll do it. He’s the best colt I’ve ever had. Oh, I meant to ask. Did you ever know someone called Harry Smedley? He came up to me at the racetrack. Said we were at school together, but I can’t for the life of me remember him.”

Driscoll was wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, I remember him. He was at the comprehensive with us-well, with me. He’d have been in the class below me. Little kid with a big head.”

“I still don’t remember him,” de Jersey said.

“You might remember his mother, Margie, though. Gawd, she was a case. She’d go an’ collect her social dosh in the morning and lose it by the afternoon. Ronnie tried to stop her gambling, but every day she’d be in the shop, soon as the doors opened, shilling each way. She was a tough old boiler.” Driscoll waved his fork. “She was there when those heavies came in with the sledgehammer. Got herself under a table when it was all going down. All the while, the racing commentary was coming out over the Tannoy. As soon as they left the shop, up she pops and tells Ronnie he’s got to pay out on the bet she was about to place. She says it was a pound on the nose, a twenty-to-one outsider called Danny Daly.”

Wilcox got up. “Which is the bathroom?”

De Jersey pointed to a door close by. “There’s that one, or another one off the bedroom.”

Wilcox went into the bedroom and closed the door.

“What did my father say?”

“He says, ‘Mrs. Smedley, you haven’t put paper on a runner in here ever, but just for your bottle, I’ll pay out,’ and he did. He was some fella, your old man.”

De Jersey still had no recollection of mother or son.

Wilcox returned. “Has he finished, or is he just drawing breath?”

Driscoll gave him the finger.

De Jersey passed the cheese board. Wilcox poured more champagne and returned to his seat. They continued to chat about old times. Finally Driscoll pushed aside his plate. “Our luck ran out, though. This latest venture has done me over good.”

De Jersey started to clear the dishes. “Let me explain how we lost our cash. You must know by now that the Internet crash has affected a lot of people even worse than us. Lots of companies have gone down. Ours was just one of many.”

“I spoke to that bloke at Lyons’s office, and he said that if we could contact this fella Alex Moreno he might be able to salvage something,” said Driscoll.

“Not a hope in hell,” de Jersey replied. “Leadingleisurewear has been liquidated, and Alex Moreno, the managing director, has disappeared.”

Driscoll banged the table with the flat of his hand. “I’d like to get him by his scrawny neck and throttle him.”

“He’s been trying to form another company.”

“The little shit,” Wilcox blurted out while de Jersey opened another bottle of champagne.

“I’ve done what I could,” de Jersey replied.

“You’ve been over there and seen this Moreno guy?” Wilcox asked, surprised. De Jersey remained silent. “I’m not bleating, Colonel, but I’m only just keeping my head above water right now. I’m going to have to sell my homes, my cars… I’ve got six kids, four bloody ex-wives. I’d like some kind of retribution from this arrogant son of a bitch.”

De Jersey blew a smoke ring above his head. “Moreno is taken care of. He had property in East Hampton. We should get at least twelve million for it, hopefully more, and he had a lease on an apartment worth a couple of million. I’ll split it three ways as usual, but it can’t be touched until we’re sure it can’t be traced, maybe in six to eight months’ time. Moreno himself is not a factor anymore.” De Jersey gave each man a cold-eyed stare. “He’s out of the loop. I’ve taken care of him. Understand me?”

They knew then that Moreno was dead, and not to press for details. After a strange, depressed silence, de Jersey went to the bathroom to wash and comb his hair. He was leaving shortly to collect his in-laws from their shopping expedition at Harrods, but he needed at least another hour with Wilcox and Driscoll.

He returned to his guests. “I’ve been thinking of something we could do. It’s-”

Driscoll was the first to interrupt. “Eddy, listen, I don’t want to hear. I’m too old. I’ve got responsibilities. I can’t go back to what I was like in the old days. I almost didn’t show up here this afternoon, because I reckoned you’d have arranged some kind of business to get us out of this mess-but nothing illegal, not for me. I can’t, I’m sorry.”

De Jersey reached out and touched his hand. “That’s okay.” Wilcox was staring at the table. “What about you, Jimmy?”

“Same goes for me. I reckon I’ve lost my nerve. I just don’t have the bottle for it anymore, and if, like you said, we’re in line for a few mill from the sale of the Moreno property, that’s… that’s enough for me.”

“I forget how old I am sometimes, and it was a crazy idea anyway,” de Jersey said. “You’re right. We’ll leave our separate ways, see each other again when we’re on walkers.”

De Jersey started to count. He reckoned that when he got to ten Wilcox would want to know more, but he was wrong: it was Driscoll.

“So come on, then. Just ’cause we’re not players doesn’t mean we’re not curious. What caper were you gonna line up for us?”

De Jersey faced them. “No, you’re right. Better if we just walk away now.”

Wilcox couldn’t meet his eyes. De Jersey continued, “No hard feelings. Now or ever. They broke the mold when they made you two.”

Driscoll said, “If we don’t come in, will you go it alone, whatever it is?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. But now I have to go collect my in-laws.”

“It’s not as if you can’t trust us. Why don’t you just run it by us?” Driscoll said stubbornly. “You know whatever you say to us won’t go any further.”

De Jersey put on his hat. “Not this time.”

“Come on, you can’t bullshit a bullshitter,” Driscoll said, smiling.

“There’s a first time for everything, Tony,” de Jersey said.

Wilcox glanced at Driscoll, and their eyes met. They both wanted to know what deal they had just turned down.

“You let us decide, Colonel, that’s fair, isn’t it?” Driscoll said.

After a long pause, de Jersey returned to the table. He took off his hat. “You forced my hand.”

Both men waited, and de Jersey seemed to relish the moment. “I want to steal the Crown Jewels.”

“Not the ones in the Tower of London?” Driscoll asked, incredulously.

“The very same.”

“The fucking Crown Jewels!” Wilcox let out a loud laugh.

“He’s having us on.” Driscoll grinned.

De Jersey twisted his hat around on his hand. “It’ll take months of preparation. I’ve not formulated the details as yet, or picked out the people I’ll need.”

“You’re gonna break into the Tower of London?” Wilcox said.

De Jersey put on his hat and pulled the rim to the angle he liked. He walked to the door and unlocked it. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, considering our past connections. See you.”

“Edward!” Wilcox flew to the door. “Don’t do this. I’ve been grateful to you more times than I can remember, but this… You can’t expect us to take you seriously! This isn’t a serious gig, is it?”

Driscoll joined them at the door. “Like James just said, I owe you for everything and I won’t ever forget what you or your old man did for me, but no way am I going to feel guilty for turning this caper down. So come clean. Admit it’s a big joke.”

“No joke,” de Jersey said. “When I get the money from Moreno’s properties, you’ll get your cut.” He gave them a long, cold stare. They moved away from the door, and he opened it again.

“I have to go-I’m taking the in-laws for dinner at San Lorenzo. They’ll be waiting for me outside Harrods.” He closed the door silently behind him and walked down the thickly carpeted corridor. He passed the elevator and headed down the stairs. He didn’t feel let down, just foolish for believing that the three could pick up where they had left off. That was his mistake. Too many years had passed.

Still in the hotel room, Wilcox chopped a line on the table. He offered one to Driscoll.

“Not for me. Gives me a runny nose.”

Wilcox sniffed, then tapped the rolled banknote on the table.

“You feel as bad as me?” asked Driscoll.

“Yeah.”

“But we agreed, right? I mean, no way. Not at our age.”

“Yeah.”

“You think he was serious?”

“The Crown Jewels-it’s insanity.”

They looked at each other.

De Jersey had arranged to meet Christina and her parents at Walton Street. The entrance to the streets was busy; Harrods was holding its January sale. The Rolls-Royce was waiting in line, his chauffeur was inside, and once he was seated in the car, de Jersey closed his eyes and tilted his hat over his face. Thirty minutes later Christina came out with her parents and they drove toward Beauchamp Place. He had booked a table for an early dinner, and he became the charming host, making polite conversation about their visit to the Tower of London. He had even purchased a video of the tour and bought many of the books on sale at the kiosk, maps, and numerous large color photographs of the crowns.

Wilcox left the Ritz feeling depressed. He made his way to Bond Street, irritated that he could not get a taxi. He passed Asprey & Garrard and paused to stare at the diamonds in the window. The cocaine was wearing off. It was raining and his suit was damp. His knees were a constant source of pain after so many skiing accidents. Did de Jersey still suffer from his knee injury? Memories flooded back. It had actually been Wilcox’s idea to rob the shops for de Jersey to take back what was rightly his. Wilcox was all for using the same violent tactics the villains had, but de Jersey had refused and a few weeks later contacted him with a plan. Wilcox pictured the three of them as young bloods, daring robbers. Those had been thrilling times. But even de Jersey couldn’t steal the Crown Jewels. Could he?

Driscoll had parked his new Jaguar not far from Piccadilly Circus. His dismay changed to frustration as traffic inched along toward Haymarket. When he turned into the Mall, the magnificent sight of Buckingham Palace confronted him. He thought of de Jersey’s insane suggestion of stealing the Crown Jewels. He drove past the Palace, remembering the crazy guy who had broken in. Despite all those guards on duty, alarms, and security devices, he had slipped into the Queen’s bedroom and sat on her bed.

Liz was waiting outside Victoria Station, soaked to the skin. She shot into the road from the bus depot when she spotted the car. Driscoll loaded the bags filled with bargains into the trunk.

“Why are you so late? I said seven fifteen. I’ve been standing there for over three-quarters of an hour. Did you buy the golf clubs you wanted? I went to Harvey Nicks…”

He never listened to her monologues, which didn’t seem to require answers to the questions or views on her many purchases. He felt tired, old, and bored.

“You’re very quiet,” she said. “How’s your stomach?”

“Fine.”

“You take your antacid tablets?”

“Yeah.” He sighed; ahead was another traffic jam at Vauxhall Bridge.

“If you’d gone over Chelsea Bridge it’d have been better, or you could have gone over Wandsworth Bridge.”

“Shut it, Liz.”

“What the hell’s the matter with you, Tony? All you do lately is moan. Half the holiday in Florida was ruined by your bad moods.”

Tony didn’t reply. How was he going to tell her that forty-five million pounds had gone missing in cyberspace?

De Jersey felt drained when he got home, but he had to maintain his good humor for that evening, and the following morning, walking round the estate with his in-laws. However, his mind was only half there. He had decided to go ahead, even without Wilcox and Driscoll. Their refusal to join him had not dampened his spirits; it had made him even more determined.