He feels it.
The hairs on the back of my arms rise. I feel it.
Opportunity. Possibility. He moistens his lips before he looks up.
“Very nice, lovely.” A hint of joy bubbles just under the surface of his deadpan expression. He’s no poker player, that’s for sure.
A rate of ten percent commission is agreed upon. He’ll get started as soon as I leave and should have some offers by the afternoon. Things move very fast in the diamond market. He can have a sale arranged by the end of the day if that’s something the family I work for would be interested in.
I leave with a handwritten receipt in lieu of the stones and head back to the café to meet Mark. And then I feel it: eyes on my back. I stop on the corner of Pall Mall and St. James’s Street, and with nerves fizzing pretend to look for my phone in my bag. The two men behind me pass by. They’re not police, and they aren’t following me, they’re just two well-dressed men on their way to a long lunch. I check over my shoulder, back all the way down the Mall to Trafalgar Square, my eyes searching for DCI Foster’s stocky frame among the few pedestrians. Of the twenty or so passersby, no one fits the bill. DCI Foster’s not here. He’s not watching me.
Stop it, Erin. Don’t be paranoid.
My heart flutters in my chest. A ghost instinct, nothing more. I head off up St. James’s to meet Mark.
He lights up when he sees me enter. He wants to know how it went with Charles.
“Very, very good,” I assure him. “He’s looking for buyers as we speak. He was really excited. He was trying to hide it but I could tell. This might be done in a couple of hours! He’s going to call me this afternoon with some offers.” My hands are shaking ever so slightly. Mark slides his hand over the café table and rests his palm over mine.
“You’re doing really well, honey. I’m impressed.” He undercuts it with a grin. I can’t help breaking into one too. What are we doing? It’s scary but it’s also completely thrilling. I can’t speak for Mark, obviously, but I’ve only ever gotten the occasional parking fine before now. I’m not a criminal. But it’s amazing how smoothly we’re taking to all this. I console myself that it’s okay to be paranoid every now and then, it’d be crazy if I weren’t, considering what we’re doing. We’ve brought all of this danger home with us, to England.
“Listen, Erin, honey, why don’t we just stay in town and wait for Charles’s call together? And if an offer comes through, we’ll just take it, okay? And you can pop back down there and do the deal and we could be completely done by this evening. Diamonds out of the house, done. We can go back to our normal lives. Well, normal-ish.” That smile again.
* * *
—
My mobile rings at around one-thirty. It’s Charles, calling back already. I recognize the final three digits from Mark’s call this morning. Mark gives me the nod and I answer after four rings. We don’t want to sound too desperate.
“Hello?” I answer, brusquely. Sara, my imaginary PA character, has much more important things to be getting on with than waiting for Charles’s call.
“Hello there, Sara, it’s Charles from Naiman Sardy?” He’s tentative.
“Oh, fantastic. Hello, Charles, what can I do for you?” I sound breezy, aloof, and professional. Mark catches my eye and smiles. He likes this character. Very sexy.
Charles hesitates again ever so slightly, but I catch it. An infinitesimal pause down the line before he plunges in. “Sara, I’m ever so sorry. But unfortunately I’m not going to be able to help with this. As much as I’d love to, I’ll have to sit this one out, I’m afraid.”
My stomach flips and my eyes dart to Mark. He’s already caught the change in energy from me and he quietly scans the faces in the café. Are we busted? Is it finished?
I’ve been silent a beat too long on the phone. I focus and continue calmly. “Is there some sort of problem, Charles?” I manage to sound slightly passive-aggressive. Sara isn’t sure why Charles has been wasting her goddamn time if he isn’t capable of selling diamonds.
Mark’s eyes are on me again.
“I’m terribly sorry, Sara. It’s just a small issue of provenance, that’s all. I’m sure you can understand. I’m embarrassed to mention it really. I’m certain your clients are unaware that they are in possession of…well, needless to say there have been quite a few red flags regarding the provenance of the stones, which may cause potential problems further down the line. So I’m going to have to bow out at this stage. I’m sure you understand?” Charles leaves a silence for me to fill.
I shake my head at Mark. No sale. Provenance. I frown. And then I get it. Charles is letting me know that he thinks we’re dealing with blood diamonds. That our stones come from some ethical void or another in Africa. Of course, with no papers, no trail, that’s what they must look like. And I’d rather Charles thinks they’re blood diamonds than that their lack of provenance is due to the fact that we simply stole them. Of course he must have suspected something was off when I handed them over. But I’d wager his concerns are more to do with potential heat than ethics. If he’d been able to offload the stones to literally anyone over the past few hours, I’m guessing he’d have done it. I don’t blame him at all for balking. If I were Charles I’d run a mile, especially if he’s having a bad year. People like Charles don’t last long in prison.
“I see. Well, thank you, Charles, that’s all extremely helpful. I’m sure my clients will be very interested to hear that. You’re correct in assuming they would be completely unaware of any complications of that nature. So, thank you for your discretion.” I oil him. I know he’s not going to tell anyone, but he’s worth greasing if it makes life easier.
“Not a problem at all, Sara.” I hear a relieved smile in his voice. “Could I ask, though, that you inform your clients that I’m very happy to look into any other assets they’d be interested in liquidating? I’m happy to be of use if they need me for anything else. You do have my details, don’t you?” He wants the spoils but he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty. Join the queue, Charles, join the queue.
“Yes, of course, and I know they’ll appreciate your discretion in this matter,” I say.
Mark shakes his head. I’m smoothing the ego of a man who just told us we’re criminals, and it’s working. People are strange, aren’t they?
“Wonderful, many thanks. Oh, Sara—would you mind awfully collecting them from my office now? I’ll have them bagged and ready. It’s probably best.”
I hang up and slump onto the café table. God, being a criminal is exhausting. Mark ruffles my hair and I raise my eyes slowly to him.
“No sale.” I keep my tone hushed. “He thinks they’re blood diamonds. He’s fine, though. No intention of telling. I’ve got to go get them back now.”
“Dammit!” It’s not what Mark wanted to hear. He put a lot of work into smoothing that transaction. “This part was supposed to be the easy part. He doesn’t know it’s us selling, does he?”
“No,” I reply quickly. “There’s no way he could know. And if he does, he’s definitely not the kind to ever mention it. I’m sure people bring him all sorts. Blood diamonds are probably the least of his worries. If he’s too scared to try and sell the diamonds for us, then he’ll definitely be too scared to shoot his mouth off about them. Who knows who my clients could be? Who knows what they might be capable of?” I’m not concerned in the least about Charles ratting on us.
Mark’s frown fades and he flashes me a little smile. “So, what the hell are we going to do now?” He says it lightly, the absurdity of our situation evident in his tone. Because what are we going to do now? We don’t know anyone else. We don’t know how to sell diamonds.
I let out a giggle. He grins back, eyes crinkling around the edges. God, he’s gorgeous.