The Diamond Ring

PRIMULA BOND

The Diamond Ring

Dedication

For my family

‘Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale

Her infinite variety: other women cloy

The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry

Where most she satisfies; for vilest things

Become themselves in her.’

William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra 1606

‘Whenever I’m caught between two evils, I pick the one I’ve never tried.’

Mae West

‘J’ai bien besoin d’avoir cette femme, pour me sauver du ridicule d’en être amoureux.’

Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, Les Liaisons Dangereuses

Le feu plus couvert est le plus ardent.

French proverb

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

The silky blue and green strands of the feather ripple as if they’re still attached to something breathing. The sharp quill end pecks a dot of blood from Gustav’s finger. It’s been bent awkwardly to fit inside the envelope that has just been delivered, but as he shakes out the plume it unfurls to its full majestic length.

‘Peacock feathers symbolise bad luck. Everyone knows that. They’re beautiful, but deadly. A curse. So why is this package addressed to me?’ Gustav frowns at the feather, turning it this way and that. ‘A week ago this building was still being refurbished. Barely anyone knows the gallery’s open and in any case the business is in your name, not mine. So who just posted it through this door? Who knows I’m here?’

The feather shimmers playfully, catching flashes of light from the dimness outside. Gustav’s questions hum and buzz as he examines it. The oval eye set in the middle is distinctly outlined, as if it belongs to an ancient Egyptian goddess immortalised on the wall of her tomb.

The mellow atmosphere we have just been enjoying with our band of friends and clients to celebrate the unveiling of the Serenissima gallery has disappeared. The excitement of our engagement shelved. The pleasure of making up with my cousin Polly when she turned up unexpectedly is forgotten. The exquisite, planned, pleasure of making out with my handsome new fiancé in the window, watched by a clutch of voyeurs, has dissipated.

I may still wear Gustav’s scent between my legs but the joy has evaporated like so many torn cobwebs. And it’s all down to Gustav’s brother. Pierre Levi.

The last time I saw this feather it was pinned to a tricorn hat, and that tricorn hat was on Pierre’s head. It was part of the elaborate disguise he had carefully picked to attend the Valentine’s Day ball in Venice a month ago.

I’m going to have to tell Gustav everything before Pierre does. Right down to the fact that in the mêlée of masked strangers Pierre convinced me that I was dancing with Gustav. And that’s why I walked so willingly into his arms.

The peacock eye is the only fixed point on the wavering fronds. And it’s fixed on me.

It’s late March. The Carnivale was only a few weeks ago. But like a fool I thought that was long enough to put such a potentially disastrous encounter behind me. I thought that with Pierre now ensconced and occupied far away in LA I could hide the sordid encounter still haunting me, the truth that Pierre and I share still whispering in my ear. The truth which could still drive me and Gustav apart.

But now Pierre has sent this feather, this visual prompt, and yet again he’s timed it perfectly. Only an hour ago he was part of the jolly proceedings when he phoned the gallery, pretending to congratulate us on our engagement. But all he really wanted to do was remind me that far from being separated by time and space, the diamond ring glittering on my finger means that he and I are more inextricably linked than ever.

It will be your turn to choose, Serena, Pierre said on the phone. If you don’t want to have any more to do with me, you know where the door is.

In other words, the only way to avoid Pierre is to walk away from them both.

And just to make sure I understand, just to keep me in line, it turns out that Pierre is physically close by. He’s been watching, waiting for the moment to deliver this coded symbol. Knowing that I will instantly recognise what secret the feather represents.

That Gustav’s own brother tried to fuck me.

I rouse myself with an awkward shrug, aware that Gustav is waiting for me to speak.

‘New York must be full of freaks who get off on scaring people. Maybe it’s from someone who saw my voyeur exhibition in London and thinks I’d find this funny. Or someone who disapproves of my erotic themes. Someone with a grudge, maybe a member of the Club Crème who was at that stag-night shoot in January and doesn’t want my shots to be circulated?’

The feather’s breeze kisses my face. Every dip and sway of it reminds me of Pierre in that gondola, the way he was moving, what he was doing to me.

I back up against the glass door. ‘All I know is, you need to get rid of it!’

‘Relax, darling! I was only teasing about the curse.’ Gustav continues waving the feather like a conductor’s baton. ‘Look at it another way. Maybe some people would see this as a good-luck charm intended for you. Not for me. Maybe Ernst and Ingrid Weinmeyer sent it, even though they were here just now. They are your most loyal patrons, after all. Maybe they feel honoured that we invited them to the opening of our cool new gallery. Or Polly meant it as a keepsake while she’s off wandering the globe in search of herself?’

‘It’s not like you to stand around proffering useless theories, Gustav!’ It comes out sharper than I intended, and heat floods through my face. ‘It’s just some creepy hoax, OK? Designed to sabotage our happiness.’

‘Nothing and no one will ever do that.’ He flicks the feather against my face and holds it there, still pondering. ‘Then again, peacocks spread their tails as part of the mating call, don’t they? So maybe it’s highlighting my machismo? My success in ensnaring the cutest photographer in the western hemisphere, first with a silver chain, then with a golden locket, and now with this diamond ring?’

The fronds feel as if they’re stuck to my cheek. Flimsy, yet weighted with menace.

I flick it away from me and scrabble for the door handle. ‘Let’s just get out of here. Go get dinner and start making some wedding plans!’

‘Nothing I’d like better, Serena, but first things first. What on earth is wrong?’ Gustav swings me round to face him. ‘One minute my sexy seductress is doing incredible things to me right here on this couch. The next minute a harmless feather is making her tremble as if it’s a loaded gun!’

‘Oh, Gustav, that’s exactly what it is. I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but—’ I finally manage to open the door. ‘I know the bastard who sent it!’

I realise I was wrong about those furtive footsteps I heard on the pavement a few minutes ago. I knew that more than one person was watching as I straddled Gustav, lowered myself slowly on to his hardness, dangling my bare breasts to brush against his lips. There were several people watching as I took charge, and that turned me on all the more.

So when a sleek grey Porsche parked up, I didn’t halt my sexy display. I guessed the person getting out of the car to join the fun was simply the attractive girl I’d spotted earlier when I took a chilly evening stroll along the High Line. I’d been surveying the surrounding apartments through my zoom lens, in my customary sniper’s style, and her dark-skinned, curvaceous figure had caught my eye as she rose naked from a rumpled bed.

So when I glimpsed a black belted trench coat and beret getting out of the car and joining the crowd, I reckoned she was simply returning the compliment and had diverted her journey to watch me in action, watch me playing with my lover. I was even tickled that we shared a taste in outfits. I wanted her to stay, to breathe a little quicker as I started to rock and ride my lover just as I had watched her riding hers.

Because, you see, I like to watch, but since I arrived with Gustav in New York and started taking on more outrageous commissions, sometimes joining in, I’ve discovered I like to be watched, too. Sometimes I like to be the voyeur, viewed.

The clatter of the letter box didn’t distract me as Gustav and I shared our climax with our audience. I wasn’t fazed by the gunning of the engine as the woman pattered back to the sports car and it pulled away from the kerb.

Now I know that she wasn’t acting alone.

‘What bastard? Who are you talking about?’ Gustav tries to stop me dashing outside. ‘There were several people watching us out there. You didn’t care then. Why are you so worked up now?’

‘He couldn’t man up and do it himself. He didn’t want us to spot him so he got someone else to do his dirty work. He was waiting in the car.’ I slip out of his grasp. ‘He must have shifted into the driver’s seat after she got out.’

‘Who?’

I spin round like a dog trying to find a comfortable sleeping place.

‘That’s just it. I thought I knew who the woman was, but she’s just some sidekick he persuaded to dress up like me and then deliver his bloody feather.’

‘Serena, you sound like a demented Miss Marple! The woman in the coat was just a passer-by who got an eyeful.’ Gustav steps into the cold to try to get hold of me. ‘I meant, who is this bastard you keep harping on about?’

Normally I would love the idea of Gustav being so wrapped up in his pleasure that he was oblivious to the world around him. But this is no joke.

‘He’s probably still parked around here somewhere, watching us. Maybe he’s laughing his head off. We have to find him, Gustav!’

I jam my beret more firmly on to my head and start to run in my lacy dress and my biker boots up the sidewalk towards the corner, where a set of overhanging traffic lights swings in the cold night breeze, permanently stuck on red.

Gustav is chasing after me. As I reach the corner I half turn. I don’t want him to be with me when we locate the car. My foot catches and I stumble off the kerb. A truck blares its horn and swerves round me as I stagger into the road.

‘Stop this nonsense, Serena! You got a death wish or something, charging at the traffic like that?’ Gustav hauls me back to safety as the truck driver swears and gives us the finger. ‘What do you mean, “He’s probably nearby”?’

‘I’m talking about your brother Pierre. That feather is from him! And it’s more than a message. It’s a warning!’ I twist away to peer up each street radiating from the intersection, but all I can see are a couple of yellow cabs cruising for fares in the distance. ‘He wants to tell you something terrible about me.’

I start to shiver violently. Gustav wraps his arms around me and guides me back towards the gallery. The open door is swinging and banging against the wall in the sudden sharp wind.

‘My brother’s in LA, you silly thing.’ Gustav pulls me into the porch. ‘He’s creative director of that pilot they’re shooting. It’s the breakthrough he’s been waiting for!’

‘How do you know he’s there?’

‘Wild horses wouldn’t drag him back to the East Coast. He promised to prove himself to me within six months, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s progressed from sourcing costumes and props for fashion shoots to designing stage sets and directing theatre productions. He was already pretty cocky, sure, that’s why he had all the cast and crew calling him “boss” during that burlesque production you recorded at the Gramercy Theatre. But now he’s hitting the big time, and the best bit is that you were part of its inception. It’s your material that was used for the pilot’s original pitch.’

I stand limply against Gustav and close my eyes. Only a heartless bitch would want to quash his joy at sharing in his brother’s life again after a five-year estrangement. So how do I tell him that I’m here not to praise Pierre, but to bury him?

‘I know it sounds crazy, Gustav, but you have to listen to me. Pierre’s not the paragon you think he is.’

‘None of us are.’ Gustav ruffles my hair. ‘I know he’s a rogue and he treats women like dirt. He’s young and still has a lot to learn. But he’s determined to better himself, and I’m proud of him.’

‘Maybe that’s why you can’t spot all the shit-stirring.’ I sigh and turn away to hide the redness in my cheeks. ‘He thought you and I had broken up after that showdown in February, when Polly went berserk and showed you those awful photos of us apparently kissing. Pierre tried, and failed, to take me for himself. Then when I warned him on the phone earlier to back off, he declared that if I don’t want him in my life then it’s up to me to leave. I hung up on him. But the feather was already on its way as evidence to ruin me.’

‘Evidence of what? Why would he risk everything, just when it’s going so brilliantly for all of us? He’s got the job of his dreams. I’ve got you. We’re getting married. There’s such a rosy future ahead of us.’ Gustav combs my hair away from my sweaty brow. His quiet voice almost calms me down. ‘It’s thanks to you that Pierre and I are close again. You kept us talking when it looked as if we would never get over the past. He and I are done with hurling insults, Serena. Pierre’s not playing any more games.’

‘Isn’t he?’

‘No. If there’s something bothering him he’d come out with it. I can’t believe he would bugger about with enigmatic feathers!’

‘There’s nothing enigmatic about it. He’s always one step ahead, don’t you see? I don’t want to keep anything from you. I’m trying to be honest, but I’m scared. Oh, God, Gustav. I’m so scared!’ I try to pull away again, my voice splintering into sobs. ‘I know that horrible feather is from him, because Pierre was wearing it in Venice!’

‘I’m not talking about this out here. It’s bloody freezing.’ Gustav stops. The street lamp casts shadows over his face as he looks down at me. His black eyes glitter like moonlight on a deep pool. ‘What did you just say?’

This is how he looked on Halloween night last year, when he stepped out of the darkness of that London square and into my life. There was something vampirical about him, the black bristles trying to push through his white skin, the sharp bite of his teeth into his lower lip when he was concentrating. He already seemed to know me inside out. But instead of scaring me that night, he thrilled me. And he has been thrilling me ever since.

I try to flatten myself against the wall.

‘Pierre was in Venice last month. He was at the Weinmeyers’ ball. He was wearing a tricorn hat, and in that hat—’

‘Was a peacock feather that is working some serious voodoo on you!’ Gustav shakes his head. ‘He wasn’t there, Serena. You were the one adorned with peacock feathers, not him. I found you all bedraggled and lost on that bridge, remember, trying to find your way home?’

I nod wearily. ‘In every sense of the word.’

Gustav’s smile is fading. ‘I’d flown all the way from New York to surprise you. I was cursing myself for being so quick to believe your cousin. Of course you’d never go kissing my brother behind my back. But you’d flown off to Venice all on your own and I was desperate to find you.’

The weight of what’s to come might break me. ‘You were too late. You should have been there the whole time. Then none of it would have happened. You were too late.’

Gustav pushes his hair out of his eyes.

‘No, no, no. Nothing awful did happen, darling. My flight was delayed, and to make matters worse Pierre called me when I landed at Marco Polo airport and kept me talking, and that’s why I never made it to the ball. But I wasn’t too late. I was just in time to persuade you to forgive me. And best of all, Venice will forever be the most special city in the world. We’ve even named this gallery after it. Because that’s where you agreed to become my wife!’

Gustav’s smile flits across his mouth again. He’s remembering how he extracted the diamond ring that had been nestling inside the golden locket around my throat, got down on one knee and asked me to change my name to Levi.

‘Hear me out, darling. Just listen. Before you found me on that bridge’ – I clasp my hands together in a kind of prayer under my chin – ‘Pierre made me do something terrible!’

He opens his arms and I walk into them.

‘You’re rambling now. Pierre has nothing to do with this. The peacock headdress was part of your costume, darling. We tossed all the feathers into the lagoon outside the Danieli Hotel.’

Oh, I love him so much. But his soft voice is already losing its hypnotic power.

‘You’re going to hate me, Gustav, but – Pierre was already in Venice when he called and kept you talking. You can be anywhere in the world when you’re on a mobile phone, can’t you? He knew we’d had that row about Polly’s photographs. He’d caused it, for God’s sake. He even came to you at the apartment after I’d fled, and fessed up.’ The wall behind me feels as if it’s shifting and breaking apart. ‘It was no secret that I was booked to go to Venice for the Carnivale. He orchestrated everything. Stopped you getting to the ball, instructed the costume lady to hire me the correct green velvet dress so that we would be a matching pair. He even planned the peacock feathers to identify me amongst all those masks. I had five feathers in my hair. He had one, in his hat. This one.’

‘Honey, this is gibberish.’ Gustav lets the feather drop on to the doorstep of the gallery and cages my face in the grip of his fingers. ‘Pierre was nowhere near you. He was in LA. He’s there now!’

‘He’s not in LA, Gustav. He’s right here in Manhattan. I’m certain of it.’

Hot tears of shame and fear blind me, but instead of asking any more questions Gustav nods to himself, as if that’s settled. He reckons I’m definitely unhinged. He pushes me back inside the gallery. My newly hung collection of Venetian photographs, the elegant bridges arching over khaki water, the deathlike masks processing in the distance, are obscured by the darkness. He doesn’t turn on the lights. Nor does he sit down on the couch where we were lying together just now.

He walks over to the desk and picks up our coats. He has his back to me. He pauses, staring up at the only image that is illuminated, of the arched green shuttered window. A bright red row of geraniums are planted in a box below it, and a thin white hand is reaching into the flowers to pinch off a dead petal.

‘I can’t stand seeing you so worked up, darling.’ Gustav turns over his phone. ‘Let’s ask the man himself.’

I galvanise myself. One more effort to make him understand.

‘No! Gustav, listen to me, not him! Then you can never accuse me of concealing anything, and he won’t be able to hold it over me.’

‘Concealing what? Holding what over you? How has our wonderful evening, our gallery opening, our engagement, our dinner reservation, how has it all just imploded?’ Gustav punches in the area code for Los Angeles. ‘I want to know what Pierre has done to scare you like this.’

I grab the phone from him, prising his fingers off the casing. I pathetically hold it behind my back, as if I’m stronger than him.

‘We’re getting married, so there can’t be any secrets or lies. The reason I was so bedraggled and my dress was torn when you found me on that bridge in Venice was because I was running away from him.’ It’s a hoarse whisper, but we can both hear it perfectly. ‘He followed me. He tricked me into thinking he was you, Gustav. We danced together at the ball, and then we went outside—’

‘Let me get this straight. Everyone at the ball was masked, weren’t they? You must be mistaken. You think it was Pierre, I get that, but in fact someone else had their eye on you. Now you’re frightening me, cara.’ His black eyes are shadowed with a fresh anguish that I haven’t seen for months. ‘The man you went outside with was some chancer. My God, Serena. You were molested by a random stranger, and you’ve kept that from me ever since? That’s why you were in such a state when I found you. And that’s why the peacock feather has sent you into hysterics!’

Gustav easily removes the phone from my fist, puts it down and eases my arms into the sleeves of my green leather jacket as calmly as he can before putting on his own coat. Then to my horror he picks up the discarded feather from the doorstep and bends it to fit inside his pocket.

‘You may be listening, but you’re not hearing me, Gustav! I wish it was a stranger who molested me!’ I try to grab the feather out of his coat. ‘Pierre Levi couldn’t have been further from my mind. I assumed you’d come to get me, knowing Polly’s stupid suspicions were a load of rubbish. I assumed you were the man in green velvet! I would never have gone off with him otherwise!’

Gustav pushes me back outside into the cold dark street and locks the gallery door. We stare at each other.

‘Gone off with him?’

Different images are flickering through our minds, leaving scorch marks across the happy optimism of an hour ago.

Gustav is starting to see me with my arms around another man. A faceless, masked stranger. That’s as far as his imagination stretches, for now, but in my mind, all too clearly, it is the reality. Exactly who I was with. Who was carrying me, a willing victim, through the shadows. Who was bundling me into a covered gondola so that we were alone and far from prying eyes.

Above all, I can see myself with Gustav’s brother, falling with him into the cushions, ripping at each other’s clothes. Turned on. Wet. And ready.

‘Answer me, Serena. What did you mean when you said you’d “gone off with him”?’

Gustav presses redial and lifts the phone to his ear.

‘We were dancing and I was calling your name, but then he – the man I thought was you – disappeared so I was running round outside the Palazzo Weinmeyer frantically searching, all the way to Piazza San Marco, thinking I’d lost you again!’ I batter feebly at Gustav’s arm, but he holds the phone away from me. ‘Then you appeared again, the man with the feather, so I let him lead me away from all the chaos and noise. I peppered him with questions. He didn’t speak, but I thought the silence was all part of your game. Then we were on the cushions – we were alone together in this gondola. That’s when I realised it wasn’t you and I ran away.’

Fear bubbles up, silencing me. Gustav is staring at me, but there’s a familiar stony stillness in his face as he waits for Pierre to pick up.

Just then Dickson the Driver glides up to the kerb in the new navy blue Range Rover. I have never been so glad to see him.

‘There must be some sort of explanation. Some mistake.’ Gustav opens the passenger door for me, but his eyes are fixed on the middle distance, waiting for his brother to answer.

‘Mistaken identity on my part, sure—’

‘But if he was there, maybe on Pierre’s part, too. Have you thought of that? He may have thought you were someone else! Christ, the way he goes through women he must have one in every port.’