handbag. It was badly stained and Angie felt her stomach lurch. It must have been the bag she’d been holding when she’d fallen. Not allowing herself to dwell on the origin of those stains, she put the bag carefully to one side and moved the other items of clothing and then her hand stilled.
It lay in the bottom of the case, winking and catching the late evening light that poured through the small attic window. Angie caught her breath. Even with absolutely no knowledge of diamonds, she could see that the stone and the setting were exquisitely beautiful.
In a trance, she reached down and lifted the pendant from the case, feeling the weight of the stone settle into the palm of her hand.
Without warning, her eyes filled and the ache inside her was so great that she could hardly breathe. Her sister had been wearing this on her last day alive. It had been round her neck, had touched her skin, been part of her—
‘I miss you, Tiff,’ she whispered and then gave a start of shock as her mother’s voice came from directly behind her.
‘What’s that?’
Angie blinked back the tears, cleared her throat and turned. Her mother was staring at the diamond with more animation and excitement in her expression than she’d shown for months.
‘It belongs to the Kyriacou family,’ Angie said immediately, closing the case with her free hand so that her mother wouldn’t have to see the rest of Tiffany’s belongings. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you, but he visited me today and asked for this back.’ She deliberately revealed nothing of the stress of the encounter and her mother didn’t ask. Instead her eyes were glued on the jewel in Angie’s palm.
‘My Tiffany had that round her neck when she died? It’s the Brandizi diamond.’
Angie stared at her mother in astonishment. ‘You know about it?’
‘Of course. I’ve seen it round the neck of Aristotle Kyriacou’s wife. Eleni, I think her name is. She doesn’t often wear it in public because of its value.’
And it had been sitting in their attic unprotected. Angie felt faint at the thought. What if they’d been burgled? Not that any local burglar would have been expecting to find one of the world’s most famous and valuable diamonds in the attic of a terraced house in North London. She almost laughed at the thought.
‘Well…’ She closed her hand around the diamond, unable to put it down. Holding it somehow gave her a connection to her dead sister. ‘I have to return it to the Kyriacou family.’ She said the words for her own benefit as much as her mother’s. To remind herself that it was stupid to attach sentimental value to a jewel that hadn’t even really belonged to her sister.
But she didn’t want to give it away. They had so little of Tiffany left. The necklace was the last thing she’d worn and that made it almost a part of her.
‘We should keep it.’
Angie’s gaze softened with sympathy and understanding. ‘Because giving it away feels like losing part of Tiffany?’
‘No.’ Her mother shot her an impatient glance. ‘Because keeping it feels like getting our own back on the bastards.’
Angie winced. Despite years of practice, she’d never understand her mother. ‘Don’t be silly, Mum. It doesn’t belong to us.’
Angie’s gaze slid from her mother’s hard expression to the glittering diamond that lay in the palm of her hand. It was hard not to remember the words that Nikos Kyriacou had spoken: It has traditionally been passed down to offer as a gift to the woman of his heart. And yet he clearly hadn’t loved Tiffany at all.
‘I can’t believe my Tiffany was wearing that necklace.’ Her mother’s tone was reverential and Angie felt a rush of exasperation mingled with a total lack of comprehension. In her opinion, her mother had a totally misplaced sense of pride.
‘Nikos Kyriacou clearly gave it to her in return for sex, Mum,’ she mumbled as she stood up and negotiated her way down the ladder that led from the attic. ‘I don’t really think that’s anything to boast about.’
‘It’s given by the man to the woman he intends to marry.’
Angie stopped halfway down the ladder. ‘Pardon?’
‘The diamond. It’s given as a gift by the man to the woman he intends to marry. I read it in an interview with Kyriacou’s wife. So if my Tiff had it round her neck, then that’s proof that Nikos Kyriacou intended to marry her.’
‘Nikos Kyriacou had no intention of marrying anyone,’ Angie said wearily. ‘He isn’t the marrying kind. He’s exactly like Dad. The sort of man who moves from one woman to another without care, thought or emotional involvement of any sort. He never would have married Tiffany.’
‘Then he should be taught a lesson!’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’ Angie reached the bottom of the ladder and helped her mother down. ‘Kyriacou is a billionaire in a league of his own. According to that article you showed me a few months ago, he owns five jets, nine properties, including his own island in Greece. His own island, Mum!” She said the words slowly to emphasise her point. ‘He’s considered a genius in business, you told me that yourself. Now look at us. We live in North London in a terraced house, most of which the bank owns.’
Her mother’s lip wobbled. ‘It isn’t my fault that your father frittered away all our money on women and then went bankrupt.’
Angie sighed. ‘I know you’re not to blame, Mum. All I’m saying is that we’re hardly in a position to teach a man like Nikos Kyriacou a lesson, no matter how much we might like to.’ Especially when I’m just an archaeologist and you’re a lush, she thought to herself.
‘We have his diamond.’
Angie frowned, failing to see the relevance of that statement. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting we keep it? Even if we wanted to, that wouldn’t be an option. Legally, it belongs to the Kyriacou family. And they have the money to buy all the lawyers they need to reclaim it. We don’t have a decent argument for keeping it.’
She had a ridiculous vision of herself standing up in court telling dark-suited lawyers that she wanted to keep the jewel because it was the last thing that had touched her sister’s skin. Even she knew that such a sentiment would attract nothing but derision.
Her mother’s eyes were suddenly hard. ‘That man should be taught a lesson! He destroyed my Tiffany and he should pay! He’s Greek, isn’t he?’ Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. ‘Revenge! The only language these Greeks understand is revenge. You should know that—it’s in all those stupid stories you read.’
‘Myths, Mum. They’re called myths.’
Her mother gave a snort of derision. ‘Whatever.’
‘They’re stories, Mum, not real life. In real life people like us don’t go round seeing revenge.’ It was time to give the doctor a call to discuss her mother’s drinking. ‘I’m going to contact him and give the diamond back. It’s the right thing to do. Go back to bed, Mum. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Nikos lounged at the back of the lecture theatre, watching through narrowed eyes
