he’d woken with was replaced by the giddy thrill of anticipation. They’d look wonderful on Leticia! She’d be so impressed! So grateful! How could she fail to love him if he gave her diamonds?
He checked his watch.
He was due to meet Marco in a few minutes.
Marco specialized in a series of flirts known as ‘Sexy Foreigner.’ Among his trademark personas were Racing Driver, Lost Architect, and his favourite, Roaming Photographer. Camera clicking, he had descended upon many an unsuspecting mark, transforming their entire outlook with a few shots and the promise of slipping their photo into the next issue of Italian Vogue. Flick and Valentine agreed that Hughie was more Room with a View than La Dolce Vita but Marco was still drafted to teach Hughie the rudiments of his smouldering eye contact.
Still, how long could it take to enquire about the price of a pair of earrings?
Hughie rang the bell and the impeccably dressed middle-aged gentleman inside buzzed him in. The interior of the shop was furnished with all the opulence of a grand hotel lobby, only in miniature.
‘Sir!’ the man exclaimed, grasping Hughie’s hand and pumping it up and down. ‘What a pleasure, sir, to see you! Percival Bryce, at your service! What can I do for you?’
Hughie wasn’t used to being greeted with such enthusiasm. It must be the suit. ‘Well, I couldn’t help but notice the heart earrings in the window …’
Mr Bryce practically exploded with glee. ‘An excellent choice! Tasteful! Discreet! And so reasonable! Would you like to see them, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Hughie decided. ‘Why not?’
Mr Bryce took a formidable collection of keys from the drawer of a gold-and-mahogany Empire desk and unlocked the window.
‘So when we say reasonable,’ Hughie ventured, ‘we’re talking how much?’
Mr Bryce placed the earrings at artful angles on a black velvet cloth. ‘Five thousand pounds!’ The words rolled off his tongue, as if it were the most delightful sum in the world. ‘Come! Sit near them! Touch them if you like!’ He pulled out a chair, patted the seat invitingly. ‘Is this your first diamond purchase?’
‘As a matter of fact, it is. Or rather, it could be,’ Hughie corrected himself, reeling from the price. ‘Actually, I was just curious.’
‘Excellent! Curiosity is the most delightful of all human characteristics. We never know where it may lead us. Ah!’ he sighed dreamily. ‘There’s nothing like your first diamond purchase! Nothing quite like it in the world! May I get you a glass of champagne? Deirdre! Deirdre, a glass of champagne, please!’
A pretty blonde girl appeared with a champagne glass balanced on a silver tray.
‘Thank you.’ Hughie took it.
‘Shall we see them on? What do you think? Yes, why not!’ Mr Bryce answered his own question. ‘Deirdre, will you do the honours?’
Deirdre put the earrings on.
‘Look at the way the light catches them!’ Mr Bryce lifted her hair up. ‘Amazing! And the hearts! So romantic!’
‘Yes. Quite.’ Hughie sipped his champagne.
Mr Bryce stood back, radiating pleasure. ‘Is there anything more beautiful than a woman wearing diamonds? I ask you, sir! Isn’t she a vision?’
‘Very nice, no doubt about it,’ Hughie agreed.
‘Now,’ Mr Bryce’s brow furrowed, ‘I must ask you, please don’t think I’m being impertinent, but have you had anything to eat? It’s so difficult to make any big decisions on an empty stomach. Impossible, I’d say! Deirdre will gladly rustle you up something if you like. A croissant perhaps? Or a bit of toast?’
Hughie settled back into his chair. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a pain au chocolat knocking about?’
‘A pain au chocolat!’ He clapped his hands. ‘An excellent choice! We have here a man of taste, Deirdre!’
She smiled.
‘As it comes or slightly warmed?’
‘Oh, slightly warmed, I think.’
‘Yes, yes, of course! A slightly warmed pain au chocolat at once, Deirdre!’
She picked up her tray and headed for the back room.
‘Deirdre!’ Mr Bryce’s tone sharpened, as if recalling an errant dog. ‘The earrings, please!’
Reddening, she took them off.
‘Now, Mr …?’
‘Mr Venables-Smythe.’
All the colour drained from Mr Percival Bryce’s unseasonably tanned face, yet his smile remained intact.
‘Venables-Smythe?’ he repeated.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘As in, Rowena Venables-Smythe, formerly Rowena Compton Jakes?’
‘That’s my mother! Hey, that’s amazing! How do you know her?’
‘I don’t. I mean, I used to see her … mind you, this was many years ago. She used to work at Tiffany’s, across the street.’ He fussed with velvet. ‘She wouldn’t remember me, I’m sure. Please don’t mention it. No need to bring up that you saw me or popped in … Oh, look! Your pain au chocolat! Thank you, Deirdre. Is she well? Happy? Your mother, I mean. I imagine she is. Why wouldn’t she be? After all,’ he concluded grimly, ‘your father is a very dashing, very well-to-do man!’
‘Dad died years ago. A fishing accident off the coast of Malta. They never found him.’
Mr Bryce’s spirits seemed to lift. ‘Really? I’m so sorry! How awful for you! Really? Is he quite dead?’
Hughie bit into the pain au chocolat; a river of warm dark chocolate filled his mouth. ‘Mmmm,’ he nodded. ‘Quite. She’s never really recovered.’
‘I see,’ Mr Bryce murmured to himself. ‘No men in her life, then?’
‘Not unless you count Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker.’
Mr Bryce drifted over to the window, looking out across the street at the grand facade of Tiffany’s. ‘I suspect she’s suffered from inconsolable grief. Some wounds never really heal.’ He sighed. ‘She used to ride a bicycle to work. It was blue.’
The idea of his mother maintaining her balance on anything, let alone a moving vehicle, was shocking.
Mr Bryce stood there for quite a while, long enough for Hughie to finish the pain au chocolat and drain his champagne glass. The glamour of the situation was just beginning to pall when he finally turned round.
‘Perhaps, Mr Venables-Smythe,’ he sniffed, dabbing his eyes discreetly with a silk hanky, ‘we might
