Page 52

As I leave my room, Lester is leaving his.

I spy Glover through the gap in the open door and wonder again whether they’ve spent the night together.

After what they’ve both been through, and survived, it would be natural to want to stay close.

Glover catches my eye and glowers. There’s real hatred in his gaze.

I suppose he knows it was me who caught them in flagrante on the Titanic .

Perhaps he’s worried about what I’ll do with that information.

Lester doesn’t smile. I suppose he’s still cross with me for suggesting Glover be dismissed.

‘I trust you slept well, Aunt Constance?’ he says tightly, closing the door behind him.

I imagine he’s wearing borrowed clothes as well, but his are well cut and dashing, even though they don’t have his usual flair for colour and design.

I suspect they belong to Walter-Wyatt who must wear the same size. They’re both tall and slim.

‘I did sleep well. I trust you did, too.’ We set off down the corridor together. ‘It’s some house, isn’t it?’ I say, trying to make conversation but sensing from his closed energy that it’s going to be a challenge.

‘I’m not so easily impressed,’ he replies in a lofty tone. ‘It’s like theatre; there’s nothing authentic about it at all.’

‘You’re hard to please, Lester.’

He sighs. ‘Stuffing a house full of antiques to give the impression of heritage and history does not fool me, Aunt Constance. I’m surprised, your critical eye is usually less forgiving.’

‘I like it. It’s magnificent and I appreciate magnificence.’

‘It’s fake and I abhor pretentiousness.’

‘What would you prefer, that they had bought everything in America? Even Broadmere is full of French and Italian antiques.’ I have no idea, of course. I’m just guessing. But I’m proved to be right, for he doesn’t contradict me.

He stops at the top of the stairs and lowers his voice so the servants won’t hear.

‘Broadmere was first built in fifteen forty-seven and then remodelled by our ancestors in seventeen thirty-six into the house that stands today. It has had over one hundred and fifty years of embellishment. One hundred and fifty years of Ravenglasses adding to its splendour with every grand tour they made. This house is merely forty years old, and they think that by imitating the great English mansions and French chateaux they will fool people into believing them to be an old family. Well, I tell you, my dear aunt Constance, that they haven’t fooled me . ’

He sets off down the stairs at a trot and I follow him.

‘By the by, what are you wearing?’ he says, and the tone of his voice confirms my own judgement – this outfit is decidedly un attractive.

When we enter the dining room, I’m surprised to see so many footmen attending Walter-Wyatt, who presides over the long table with his face buried in the New York Times , and a young woman I recognise immediately as Esme.

Constance’s diary was very descriptive. She is indeed beautiful and elegant.

‘Lester!’ she exclaims, getting up with a smile.

Her cheeks flush prettily and she holds out her hands for him to take.

She’s dressed in a charming blue dress trimmed with white lace.

I remember from the diary that she visited Broadmere, so she knows Constance.

‘My dear Esme,’ I say when she turns to greet me.

‘Oh, Miss Fleet, I’m so relieved you both made it off that ship.

What a horrible time you must have had.’ I can see a large photograph of the Titanic on the front page of Walter-Wyatt’s newspaper and a grim headline in bold black print.

Walter-Wyatt closes it and stands up to greet us.

‘Good morning, Constance. Good morning, Lester. I’m reading all about the disaster, but I feel ahead of the news having the two of you here to tell me what really happened. ’

‘It’s all a bit of a blur now,’ says Lester languidly, sitting down and flicking out his napkin.

‘But you were one of the lucky few,’ Walter-Wyatt continues. ‘Astor’s son is offering a reward for anyone who has news of his father.’

‘I’m afraid he’ll keep his money. John Jacob is at the bottom of the sea,’ says Lester.

‘With so many others,’ I add, an echo of the horrible scenes in the water reverberating in my memory. ‘I doubt many men survived.’

‘How did you survive, dear Lester?’ Esme asks, and she has the same shallow gaze as her mother.

‘He managed to climb onto an overturned lifeboat,’ I tell them, thinking of Cavill.

Esme gazes at him with admiration. ‘Oh, you’re so clever, Lester, dear.’

‘I cannot claim to be clever, merely lucky,’ he replies.

Esme smiles. ‘I disagree. I think you’re clever, and brave.’

Lester can’t help but swell with pride. The corners of his pretty lips curl into a smile.

‘I thought I was a goner, to be honest,’ he says, brightening.

‘I thought my time was up. It focuses the mind somewhat, out there in the dark with nothing but sea all around you and an unsteady boat that threatens to roll you off at any moment. But we made it against all the odds. I can tell you one thing, that water was damned cold. It felt like I was being stabbed by a thousand knives.’

Esme gasps. ‘A thousand knives,’ she repeats. ‘How simply dreadful. I cannot imagine!’

Walter-Wyatt is lapping it up. His eyes widen behind his glasses and he gazes upon Lester with interest. ‘You’ll have to tell everyone your story. They’ll be dying to hear it,’ he exclaims enthusiastically. ‘Why, to have survived to tell the tale, you must have been exceptionally brave.’

Lester asks one of the footmen for eggs and toast, and watches while the young man fills his cup with coffee. Then he sits back with his wrists on the white tablecloth and looks at Walter-Wyatt steadily. ‘I will tell my story to anyone who wants to hear it, if you show me the Potemkin Diamond.’

Walter-Wyatt grins. ‘The Potemkin Diamond, eh? Well, sure. I’ll show it to you after breakfast.’

‘Where do you keep such a valuable jewel?’ I ask, thinking of Alma Aldershoff and her yearning to find it.

Esme giggles, dabbing the corners of her pretty mouth with a napkin. ‘Oh, we’d all like to know that, Miss Fleet!’

‘My late father, William Aldershoff, designed special hiding places all over this house in which to conceal his valuables. You’d be surprised at the ingenuity of some of them. He was both playful and shrewd. He used to say the least safe place in a house is a safe.’

‘Well, that’s obviously the first place a thief will look,’ I say.

‘That’s right.’ He smiles. ‘Therefore, he had no respect for safes. Wouldn’t have one in the house, or in the cottage.’

‘How very cunning of him.’

‘I can tell you that the Potemkin Diamond is hidden in the most brilliant hiding place of all. I am the only person who knows where that is.’

‘But surely, you must tell Esme, in case …’ I don’t want to be rude. I think of Alma and plough on. ‘What if something happened to you. Take the Titanic as an example. One can never know what destiny is going to throw at one.’

‘I’ve considered that,’ he replies with a grin, and settles his shrewd eyes onto Lester. ‘All will be revealed in good time. I’m young and healthy. I’m not going anywhere.’

The way he looked at Lester was significant. I ask myself whether he intends to bequeath the diamond to him following his marriage to Esme. I remember Alma telling me that he wanted to leave it to a boy, so that would make sense.

I turn to Lester and see that his face has gone quite pink. He certainly hopes so.

I turn back to Walter-Wyatt and wonder whether he wears the little key beneath his clothes, and where the lock might be.

After breakfast, during which Alice does not appear and Esme returns upstairs, he leads us into a small sitting room decorated in rich purple and green.

‘Now, you wait here and I’ll go get it.’ He leaves the room and crosses the hall, his stick making loud tapping noises over the marble floor.

I can see through the crack in the door that he’s going into one of the drawing rooms on the other side of the house.

It could very well be the room that is currently the dining room in the Aldershoff Hotel.

‘I wonder where he hides it,’ I mumble, longing to take a look around.

Lester grins. ‘Are you planning on stealing it, Aunt Constance? Now that would do more than repair the ailing roof at Broadmere.’ He chuckles, casually lifting up a silver photograph frame and peering into the faces within it.

However, behind his veneer of not caring, I sense he’s busy imagining what it would mean to own that precious gem.

A moment later, Walter-Wyatt returns with something in his hand.

He goes to the round table in front of the window where the room gets the most light, and gently lays down a silk handkerchief.

Lester and I stand either side of him. Walter-Wyatt, conscious of the gravitas of the moment, pauses for effect.

His hand hovers over the handkerchief. Lester and I lean in, eager to see this most famous of diamonds, gifted to the Empress of Russia no less.

Then, slowly, his fingers peel back the folds like the petals of a waterlily.

I cannot help but gasp with wonder. Displayed before us, sparkling with splendour, is the Potemkin Diamond.

Lester catches his breath. ‘It’s exquisite,’ he says, his eyes widening with amazement. He’s gone very red, and his eyes are shining like Bilbo Baggins’ at the sight of the ring.

‘It really is extraordinary,’ I agree. I hadn’t anticipated it to be pink, or so big. It’s the size of a grape. ‘What an unusual colour. It’s the colour of bubblegum.’

Walter-Wyatt looks at me and frowns. ‘And what the devil is bubblegum?’ he asks.

I realise then that I’ve made a faux pas. Bubblegum has clearly not yet been invented. ‘Oh, it’s like a boiled sweet, but you chew it,’ I reply smoothly. ‘Maybe it’s an English sweet.’

Fortunately, Lester is too busy staring into the shining facets of the diamond to contradict me. I imagine his mind is conjuring up all the things he could do were it his to sell.

Might the diamond have been his had he not divorced? I wonder.

‘Incredible,’ Lester murmurs. ‘And it really belonged to Catherine the Great?’

‘It did indeed. If you look hard enough, you can see her face reflected in the flaws.’

I stare into it, but see nothing but the gleaming facets.

‘May I hold it?’ Lester asks, reaching out his fingers.

‘Of course. Go ahead. But don’t put it in your mouth and chew it!’ Walter-Wyatt laughs. Lester doesn’t. He’s quite serious. He picks it up and holds it to the light, and then he blows the air through his cheeks. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

Walter-Wyatt folds the diamond away in the handkerchief and takes it back to the drawing room. ‘I didn’t see a face, did you?’ Lester asks.

‘No. I think it’s a myth.’

‘I dare say they made it up themselves to make it more interesting.’

‘Isn’t that how all myths start?’ I hear Walter-Wyatt’s stick on the marble floor as he makes his way back to the drawing room, and drop the subject.

Shortly, Alice floats into the sitting room upon a wave of lilac, accompanied by Esme. I suppose Alice has eaten breakfast in her bedroom. ‘Good morning,’ she says, smiling blithely at us. ‘I do hope you slept well.’

‘Lester’s just been telling us how he saved himself by climbing onto the hull of a lifeboat that had turned over,’ says Walter-Wyatt gleefully.

Lester smiles. ‘Yes, Alice, you’ll be pleased to hear that we both survived the cold water, me and your brave cousin.’

I panic. It’s not true. Mr Rowland did not survive.

I put a hand on Lester’s arm to deter him.

Alice is smiling, so is Walter-Wyatt. Neither have a clue that Mr Rowland perished.

‘Lester, dear, her cousin did not survive,’ I say in a quiet but firm voice.

I can feel my face burn. I’m horrified to find myself in the position of being the one to tell them that he drowned.

Alice turns to me and a rare frown puckers her brow. ‘It’s all right, Constance,’ she says. ‘I got word from them at dawn. We are so relieved; they both survived and are due here at any minute. The girls can’t wait to see each other.’

I’m confused. Who was Mr Rowland if he wasn’t Orlando? I look from Alice to Lester, then to Walter-Wyatt. There’s an awkward silence. I don’t know what to say. Have I missed something?

Then, blessedly, we are interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. I follow Alice and Walter-Wyatt into the hall. I don’t dare glance at Lester, who stands back to allow me to pass. I can feel his contempt without having to see it reflected on his face.

The butler is holding open the huge doors and being handed a gentleman’s hat. A young woman is running towards Esme, smiling and laughing.

I stare in astonishment.

Cavill and Josephine.