The Diamond Ring. Primula Bond
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matched her eyes, as I knew it would. I’m experienced enough with costume fitting to be able to estimate her vital statistics, and boy, she spilled out of it in all the right places. OK, sorry, you don’t want to hear that. But it wasn’t just me who was captivated when she floated into that ballroom, Gustav. Nobody could take their eyes off her. And she hadn’t a clue – at least, not until the other guests started groping her! There she was, with her mask and her camera, and the five peacock feathers in her headdress like a beckoning hand. I had organised every detail so that I could have her. I pretended to be you, I made sure we were in matching costumes, I didn’t deny it when she kept calling your name. I knew she’d never go with me otherwise, and oh, God, I was so close to having her—’
‘You’re making me feel sick. Just be a man and tell me exactly how she sussed out you were tricking her. And tell me whether you passed the point of no return.’
Pierre pauses and looks at me. He scratches his tanned cheek.
I can remember the glitter of his eyes that night in Venice. It was all I could see of his face. He bruised me when he slammed his gloved hands over my mouth to hush me, but that roughness excited me all the more. I can remember the noises outside the gondola, the carnival revellers, the wash of a passing boat, our gasps as we pulled at each other’s clothes—
‘Pierre, you know what to do. You know what to say. You’ve come all this way,’ I murmur, turning my hot cheek to lean against the cool glass. ‘But if you lie to Gustav now, just like Margot did, so help me, your life won’t be worth living.’
A message, a kind of shooting star, flares between me and Pierre. We’re in this together. We were the only ones there on that Valentine’s night.
‘Serena is as innocent as she ever was. She did nothing wrong. I tricked her, because I wanted her. Her only sin was thinking I was you and responding just as she would have responded to you. She was over the moon! She thought you’d come to carry her home. She was so thrilled, so eager, so passionate, so sexy – in those few precious moments, even though I knew it was false pretences, even though it would only ever be the once, I got a taste of how it would feel to be you—’
‘No, no, don’t listen to this, Gustav. Please!’
But Gustav steps forward, his fists up again. ‘I’m warning you, Pierre!’
‘It didn’t happen. OK? Nothing happened! I didn’t fuck her! We were disturbed, and Serena pushed me away the moment she felt these bloody scars on my back. They’re my brand. They always spoil everything. She kicked me right in the bollocks and then she was out of the boat like a bat out of hell.’
Gustav stares at his brother, then down at his fists. He uncurls his fingers, one by one, and flexes them as if they hurt. Then he opens them, as if letting something fly away.
‘Which is exactly what Serena told me.’
‘Voilà.’
Gustav slowly unfolds his arms and bends to straighten the log basket. He picks up his beer glass and stares into the amber froth.
‘Do you love her, though? Did you fall in love with my fiancée?’
Pierre rubs his hands over the new black curls, making them bounce and stand on end. He stands like that for a moment as if pressing thoughts into his head. Then he slaps his hands down.
‘Look at her. I think she’s incredible. Beautiful, talented and wise beyond her years to have entranced you the way she has. I was blinded. Knocked off my feet. Exactly the same way you were. But ultimately I think I’m incapable of loving anyone, G.’ He shrugs, unaware that he’s echoing the words I used before. ‘Except you.’
Gustav nods, a mixture of sadness and weary amusement playing round his mouth.
‘In which case I feel sorry for you, Pierre. And angry. But I’m angry with myself more than anything. I took my eye off the ball. But this isn’t about me. It’s down to Serena to forgive you.’
Pierre hesitates, then walks across to the window. His musky scent reaches me before he does: attractive, strong, yet my temples are throbbing painfully before he reaches me and holds out his hand. I remain motionless, the window hard and cold behind me.
‘I’m sorry, Serena. I behaved atrociously to a lovely girl who didn’t deserve it. I took a chance, like I always do, and put you in a terrible position. But maybe I did you a favour—’
‘Pierre!’ Gustav growls, putting his beer glass down with a smack and taking a step towards us. ‘That’s not the way it’s done!’
‘—because I only demonstrated, if it needed demonstrating, that the two of you are still unbreakable.’
Pierre’s hand is firm, unwavering, in the air in front of me. There is a long silence, so deep I can hear the fridge humming in the kitchen and two birds arguing on the roof above us. I feel light and insubstantial as I take Pierre’s hand, feeling his fingers close around mine, and shake it.
‘You did something very dangerous, Levi,’ I say quietly, and glance over to Gustav. His eyes are shining with delighted relief. ‘But for Gustav’s sake, and for the sake of our future together, I want to achieve some kind of harmony between us. You’re a boneheaded bloody idiot, but fine – I forgive you.’
Pierre bows like a pageboy. ‘And I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you.’
I let him kiss my hand but as he lowers it again the pale-blue cuff of his shirt sleeve peeping from his blazer triggers fresh questions in my overactive mind. I snatch my hands away and shove them under my legs.
‘Pierre. This may sound like a silly question when we’re all being so serious, but why did you keep Gustav’s shirts, all pressed and starched, in your cupboard when you were living at Margot Levi’s apartment?’
‘It’s no secret that I was squatting there. I never pretended it was my place! But as for keeping G’s clothes, I left in a hurry for LA, and although some of my winter gear is still there, that’s all. Believe it or not, that apartment has always been more like a monk’s cell for me. I barely spent any time there. Preferred to sleep in other people’s beds. Sorry. Maybe that was a bit inappropriate.’ Pierre straightens and shakes his head. ‘Why would I hoard Gustav’s shirts after years of not seeing him? We’re not even the same collar size!’
There is not one iota of comprehension as the brothers shrug at me. I tap the side of my head.
‘Don’t look at me as if I’m mad. I wish I’d never mentioned it now, but – Gustav’s wedding shirt is there. Wing collar. Silver tiepin. And the missing cufflink that matches the one I found in Lugano. The one with the initials GL engraved on it.’
Any animation in Gustav’s eyes dies. He touches the cuffs of the maroon shirt he’s put on today. ‘So Margot took the shirts. And the mementos. I told Dickson to burn them, or take them for charity, but—’
‘You threw away that other cufflink, though, didn’t you? There was no point keeping just one, you said.’ I stand up now. ‘And when I got so upset about it, you assured me you had disposed of every gift from Margot.’
‘Calm down, chérie. There’s not so much as a long black hair of hers left in any of the houses.’ Gustav nods, but his eyes have that closed-off look again. ‘She’s got nothing and no one in her life. She’s like Miss Havisham, hoarding old shirts and mismatched jewellery as if it will bring me back. Come on, girl. Rise above Margot’s morose obsessions.’
I let my head fall back against