unscrewed the top of his fountain pen, and
wrote out the words “Five Hundred Thousand Pounds Only’ below the name of the
bank that bore his name. His wife took a discreet pace backwards.
Graff was about
to repeat his previous comment, when he glanced up, and observed Mrs. Rosenheim
silently pleading with him to accept the cheque.
A look of
curiosity came over his face as Consuela continued her urgent mime.
Victor tore out
the cheque and left it on the table. TII give you twenty-four hours to decide,”
he said. “We return to New York tomorrow morning – with or without the
Kanemarra heirloom. It’s your decision.” Graff left the cheque on the table as
he accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Rosenheim to the front door and bowed them out onto
Bond Street.
“You were
brilliant, my darling,” said Consuela as the chauffeur opened the car door for
his master.
“The bank,” Rosenheim
instructed as he fell into the back seat.
“You’ll have
your little bauble, Consuela. He’ll cash the cheque before the twenty-four
hours are up, of that I’m sure.” The chauffeur closed the back door, and the
window purred down as Victor added with a smile, “Happy birthday, darling .” Consuela returned his smile, and blew him a kiss
as the car pulled out into the traffic and edged its way towards Piccadilly.
The morning had
not turned out quite as she had planned, because she felt unable to agree with
her husband’s judgement – but then, she still had twenty-four hours to play
with.
Consuela
returned to the suite at the Ritz, undressed, took a shower, opened another
bottle of perfume, and slowly began to change into the second outfit she had
purchased the previous day. Before she left the room she turned to the
commodities section of the Financial Times, and checked the price of green
coffee.
She emerged from
the Arlington Street entrance of the Ritz wearing a double-breasted navy blue
Yves Saint Laurent suit and a wide-brimmed red and white hat. Ignoring her
chauffeur, she hailed a taxi, instructing the driver to take her to a small,
discreet hotel in Knightsbridge. Fifteen minutes later she entered the foyer
with her head bowed, and after giving the name of her host to the manager, was
accompanied to a suite on the fourth floor. Her luncheon companion stood as she
entered the room, walked forward, kissed her on both cheeks and wished her a
happy birthday.
After an
intimate lunch, and an even more intimate hour spent in the adjoining room,
Consuela’s companion listened to her request and, having first checked his
watch, agreed to accompany her to Mayfair. He didn’t mention to her that he
would have to be back in his office by four o’clock to take an important call
from South America. Since the downfall of the Brazilian president, coffee
prices had gone through the roof.
As the car
travelled down Brompton Road, Consuela’s companion telephoned to check the
latest spot price of green coffee in New York (only her skill in bed had
managed to stop him from calling earlier).
He was pleased
to learn that it was up another two cents, but not as pleased as she was.
Eleven minutes
later, the car deposited them outside the House of Graff.
When they
entered the shop together arm in arm, Mr. Graff didn’t so much as raise an
eyebrow.
“Good afternoon,
Mr. Carvalho,” he said. “I do hope that your estates yielded an abundant crop
this year.” Mr. Carvalho smiled and replied, “I cannot complain.”
“And how may I
assist you ? ” enquired the proprietor.
“We would like
to see the diamond necklace in the third window,’ said Consuela, without a
moment’s hesitation.
“Of course,
madam,” said Graff, as if he were addressing a complete stranger.
Once again the
black velvet cloth was laid out on the table, and once again the assistant
placed the Kanemarra heirloom in its centre.
This time Mr.
Graff was allowed to relate its history, before Carvalho politely enquired
after the price. “One million pounds,”
wrote out the words “Five Hundred Thousand Pounds Only’ below the name of the
bank that bore his name. His wife took a discreet pace backwards.
Graff was about
to repeat his previous comment, when he glanced up, and observed Mrs. Rosenheim
silently pleading with him to accept the cheque.
A look of
curiosity came over his face as Consuela continued her urgent mime.
Victor tore out
the cheque and left it on the table. TII give you twenty-four hours to decide,”
he said. “We return to New York tomorrow morning – with or without the
Kanemarra heirloom. It’s your decision.” Graff left the cheque on the table as
he accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Rosenheim to the front door and bowed them out onto
Bond Street.
“You were
brilliant, my darling,” said Consuela as the chauffeur opened the car door for
his master.
“The bank,” Rosenheim
instructed as he fell into the back seat.
“You’ll have
your little bauble, Consuela. He’ll cash the cheque before the twenty-four
hours are up, of that I’m sure.” The chauffeur closed the back door, and the
window purred down as Victor added with a smile, “Happy birthday, darling .” Consuela returned his smile, and blew him a kiss
as the car pulled out into the traffic and edged its way towards Piccadilly.
The morning had
not turned out quite as she had planned, because she felt unable to agree with
her husband’s judgement – but then, she still had twenty-four hours to play
with.
Consuela
returned to the suite at the Ritz, undressed, took a shower, opened another
bottle of perfume, and slowly began to change into the second outfit she had
purchased the previous day. Before she left the room she turned to the
commodities section of the Financial Times, and checked the price of green
coffee.
She emerged from
the Arlington Street entrance of the Ritz wearing a double-breasted navy blue
Yves Saint Laurent suit and a wide-brimmed red and white hat. Ignoring her
chauffeur, she hailed a taxi, instructing the driver to take her to a small,
discreet hotel in Knightsbridge. Fifteen minutes later she entered the foyer
with her head bowed, and after giving the name of her host to the manager, was
accompanied to a suite on the fourth floor. Her luncheon companion stood as she
entered the room, walked forward, kissed her on both cheeks and wished her a
happy birthday.
After an
intimate lunch, and an even more intimate hour spent in the adjoining room,
Consuela’s companion listened to her request and, having first checked his
watch, agreed to accompany her to Mayfair. He didn’t mention to her that he
would have to be back in his office by four o’clock to take an important call
from South America. Since the downfall of the Brazilian president, coffee
prices had gone through the roof.
As the car
travelled down Brompton Road, Consuela’s companion telephoned to check the
latest spot price of green coffee in New York (only her skill in bed had
managed to stop him from calling earlier).
He was pleased
to learn that it was up another two cents, but not as pleased as she was.
Eleven minutes
later, the car deposited them outside the House of Graff.
When they
entered the shop together arm in arm, Mr. Graff didn’t so much as raise an
eyebrow.
“Good afternoon,
Mr. Carvalho,” he said. “I do hope that your estates yielded an abundant crop
this year.” Mr. Carvalho smiled and replied, “I cannot complain.”
“And how may I
assist you ? ” enquired the proprietor.
“We would like
to see the diamond necklace in the third window,’ said Consuela, without a
moment’s hesitation.
“Of course,
madam,” said Graff, as if he were addressing a complete stranger.
Once again the
black velvet cloth was laid out on the table, and once again the assistant
placed the Kanemarra heirloom in its centre.
This time Mr.
Graff was allowed to relate its history, before Carvalho politely enquired
after the price. “One million pounds,”
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