Diamond Page 4

  Leonardo, for all his show of wilful ignorance, was clearly bright and articulate, and there was something of swagger about him, something of charisma. The same things Deano had had, and squandered.

  It made him strangely dangerous. Not in the knife-wielding, killing way, but in another way she didn’t really want to think about. Dangerous to her defences.

  The moment was interrupted by a hammering on the door.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Leonardo, reflexively curling his fingers around his knife.

  ‘It’ll be the heating engineer,’ said Jenna, after an heroic effort to return her thoughts to the earthbound and practical. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll let him in. And just think – you’ll be able to have a bath. You must be desperate for one. I know I am.’

  She let herself out of the attic, leaving Leonardo to restore the hatch.

  She became so engrossed in watching the engineer at work and listening to his verdict on what else needed to be done and how much it would cost that she quite forgot she had arranged to meet Lawrence Harville for lunch.

  His knock at the door almost made her react as Leonardo had done – with fear and hostility.

  ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed to the boiler man. ‘I forgot. I have to go out for an hour or so. Are you OK here on your own?’

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ve got another couple of hours’ work at least. I should think I’ll still be here when you get back.’

  ‘Good. See you later.’

  She opened the door to Lawrence Harville, ashamed of her unprimped state. Jeans, cashmere hoody, messy topknot, flipflops. Still, it would save her being recognised by too many rubberneckers.

  ‘The state of me,’ she said apologetically, looking a suited and booted Lawrence up and down. ‘I’ve been playing heating engineer’s mate this morning. Got carried away with it all and forgot we were going out. If you’ll give me a minute I can change …’

  ‘Not necessary. You look lovely,’ he said gallantly. She noticed he held a tissue-wrapped bouquet in one hand, which he now proffered. ‘I thought these might go nicely in your living room. Or wherever.’

  ‘Oh, peonies and sweet peas, that’s kind of you. I’ll put them in water. Now I’ve got some.’

  She stuck them in a bucket, which was the nearest thing she currently had to a vase, decided against putting on her raincoat since the skies were looking clear, and dashed out of the house.

  What would Harville think if he knew the Hall had had a house guest for the last six weeks? Of course, he hadn’t been living there, so he would never have noticed. All the same, it might give him the creeps, especially if he knew that his attic-dweller was no great fan of the Harvilles.

  ‘How’s it going?’ asked Lawrence, steering his expensive car out of its parking space and towards the outskirts of the town. ‘I hope the thunder didn’t keep you awake. Not the ideal place to spend that kind of night, I must admit.’

  ‘I was in two minds about keeping it on,’ Jenna confessed. ‘It’s so huge and dark and lonely. I was considering putting it back on the market at three this morning.’

  ‘Really?’ His quizzical look emphasised the crinkles in the corner of his bright blue eyes. ‘And now?’

  ‘Oh, you can’t make decisions like that at 3 a.m.,’ she said. ‘Everything looks different in daylight.’

  ‘It does, of course. So what are your plans for the place?’

  Along the ring road, then the highway out of town, they talked of stripping walls, knocking through, exposing floorboards, replastering and architraves, until they arrived in an outlying village in the foothills of the Peaks, where there was an attractive half-timbered pub.

  ‘I don’t mean to sound rude,’ said Lawrence, once they had ordered, ‘but you can’t possibly run your career out of Bledburn, can you? It’s a London/LA/New York kind of thing, surely.’

  ‘I’m taking a year off,’ she said. ‘For personal reasons.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said delicately. ‘Personal reasons. Must be awful to have your business broadcast in all the media. Of course, as a Harville, I’m no stranger to scandal, but this seems much too invasive somehow.’

  ‘If you want the inside track on why Deano I and split up …’ said Jenna.

  ‘God, no. Of course not. What do you take me for?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t going to bite your head off. I don’t think you’re trying to pry at all. I was actually going to say that in some ways it might be a relief to talk about it, a bit. But I don’t want to bore you.’

  ‘Well, I’m told I’m a good listener,’ said Harville, leaning forward.

  Jenna had thought she wanted to unburden – just a little, not a big emotional splurge, but suddenly the look in Harville’s eyes silenced her.

  I can’t trust you, she thought.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I’m sorry. It’s all very boring and I mustn’t. I’ve promised myself I’ll look to the future. Let’s drink to it, shall we?’

  They clinked glasses of sparkling water.

  ‘The future,’ said Harville. ‘Is it wrong of me to mention that I’ve always been a huge fan of Deano Diamond? His first album knocked my socks off.’

  ‘It’s a great album,’ acknowledged Jenna.

  ‘And it would never have been made without you. You’re something of a national treasure, to my mind.’

  ‘Oh God, what a thing to be accused of.’ Jenna laughed, slightly appalled. ‘I’m no more than a talent-spotter, honestly.’

  ‘Of course, the old man disapproved. I had to listen with earphones on, or there was a risk the CD would find its way into the rubbish. He didn’t like some of the songs he wrote that touched upon, well, Bledburn affairs.’

  ‘Deano was a firebrand in those days. He’s much less political now. Contributes a lot to the Colombian economy, though.’ She couldn’t help the bitchy remark, which caused Lawrence to raise his eyebrows high.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Yes, he does seem to have mellowed. Musically speaking, I mean. That last album …’

  Jenna shook her head. ‘I advised him against all that grand operatic stuff. So self-indulgent. But he’s not half the force he used to be.’

  ‘Creativity can’t always be commercial,’ said Lawrence, an insight she had not expected from him.

  ‘No, you’re quite right,’ she said, examining him more closely. He was so well kept, so impeccable, so perfectly suave. That fantasy she had had seemed out of place, now. He was too perfect for passion. ‘But it wasn’t that. I know all artists need to explore and experiment. But he’s getting stale. And bombastic.’

  ‘I suppose you won’t be working with him now?’

  ‘I’m not ruling it out. I’ll see how I feel in a year. Of course, it will depend on him, too.’

  ‘Can a business like yours survive a sabbatical? I mean, it all rather depends on your being in touch with what’s hot and what’s not, doesn’t it?’

  He was perceptive, she’d give him that. And he sounded genuinely interested in her. Jenna began to warm to him again.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘You know, I’m perfectly prepared to go back to the office in a year from now and be told that all my clients have defected and someone younger and fiercer and more fashionable has taken my seat on Talent Team. It would happen sooner or later anyway – that’s the way of this world. I’ve got a great guy covering my role, but he doesn’t have my name …’ She turned up her palms. ‘Oh well. A part of me thinks that it would be good for me to move on from all that. There’s more to life, I think. I just need to get used to the real world and I might find out what it is.’

  ‘You’re tired of living your life in the public eye?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Well, Bledburn’s the place to be in that case,’ he said, with a smile. ‘The public eye rarely comes to visit.’

  ‘And so you’re moving to Nottingham. Is that for work? What do you do?’

  ‘Property,’ he said, but he didn’t seem keen to elaborate and his face
relaxed when the waiter appeared with large plates of seafood salad for them both. ‘So, tell me about LA. You must have a few tales up your sleeve about life in the city of angels.’

  She did indeed, and she told them with relish, so that two hours slipped by easily and without any further thought of the sexy stranger in her attic.

  She remembered him, though, on the drive back when they passed a retail park just off the ring road.

  ‘Oh. Would it be a real pain if I asked you to drop me off at this shopping centre? I want to go to Hobbycraft.’

  ‘Hobbycraft?’

  ‘For paints and crafty bits and pieces,’ she said, as Lawrence turned on to the slip road.

  ‘Wouldn’t a DIY store be more appropriate?’

  ‘For the house, yes. I just thought I might get into painting. I’ve never had time for that kind of thing, till now.’

  ‘Of course. Perhaps you can quit showbiz and become a famous artist instead.’

  She laughed. ‘It’s that easy, isn’t it?’

  He accompanied her round the store as she filled her trolley with artists’ materials. Going shopping in non-designer shops was something Jenna hadn’t done in years. She had assistants to do all that kind of thing for her, usually. She enjoyed the novelty of pushing the trolley and choosing all the different pots and tins. But it was a little nerve-racking to be doing something for Leonardo while Lawrence stood by and watched her. It was as if she was giving him away.

  She almost asked him if he could take her to the supermarket too, but then thought that might be stretching a first date too far. She’d run into town herself later on and get some food in. The new range would be delivered tomorrow and she’d be able to cook properly. When had she last done that? Until then, it would be cold cuts from the deli counter and perhaps a bottle of wine. Wine glasses.

  Her mental shopping list took her all the way back home.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ commented Lawrence, parking outside the house.

  ‘Sorry. Got a lot of planning to do and it’s on my mind – about the renovation. Thank you for a lovely lunch.’

  ‘It was a pleasure. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a coffee?’

  Jenna laughed, but she had no intention of inviting Lawrence inside, not while Leonardo lurked in the attic. Thank goodness for watertight excuses.

  ‘No chance at all – I don’t even have a kettle. I’m afraid the boiler man is still working on the hot water so the mains is probably off. Another time, perhaps.’

  He nodded gravely. ‘Another time. Yes. Well, thank you for the best company I’ve had in ages. We must do it again, soon.’

  ‘Yes, we must.’

  He was leaning over towards her. A waft of his expensive aftershave drifted up her nose, delighting her olfactory nerves. She reciprocated, bending towards him until their lips brushed, just lightly enough to be polite, just firmly enough to mean business.

  She got out before he could make another move, which seemed very likely.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ she said.

  ‘You do that.’

  He didn’t drive away immediately but sat in the car while she hurried up the steps and into the house. From the drawing room window she saw him, still there. He was texting somebody, by the looks of things.

  The heating engineer came out to get something from his van, and this seemed to spur Lawrence into action. He pulled away, waving a hand out of the window before he turned out of the driveway.

  ‘All done,’ chirped the engineer from the hallway.

  ‘Oh, really? We have hot water, then?’

  ‘Hot, cold, as much as you can handle,’ he said.

  ‘Fantastic. Thank you. I’ve got your invoice – I’ll have the money transferred this afternoon.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear. Good luck with this place.’ He looked around as if he didn’t envy her her new home. ‘I can recommend a good firm of builders if you aren’t fixed up yet.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, but I think I’ll be fine. I’ll give you a call if I change my mind, though.’

  The engineer hefted his toolbox through the front door and left Jenna alone in the house.

  Except she wasn’t.

  She wanted a bath, but the idea of having one with Leonardo treading the boards above her was too weird. She decided to go up and give him the painting materials and take things from there.

  He was painting when she entered the attic, Bowyer the cat curled up on the sleeping bag at his feet.

  ‘I’ve been to Hobbycraft,’ she said, putting the bag down before hauling herself up through the hatch.

  ‘No shit?’ he said, turning round and pouncing on the offerings as if he had been Bowyer with a mouse. ‘Fucking A,’ he said, peering inside. ‘I’m right down to my last few drops.’

  ‘Well, now you’re restocked,’ she said.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he said. ‘You didn’t go to Tesco on your travels, did you?’

  ‘Sorry, not yet. I’m going to have a bath then head into town to get some food. Don’t you have anything to eat?’

  ‘Some stale custard creams and a tin of cold baked beans,’ he said. ‘It’ll do. I was hoping for some fruit and veg, though, before I get scurvy.’

  ‘I’ll bring you fruit,’ she promised. ‘And, once I’m out of the bath, it’s all yours.’

  ‘Right. Can I borrow your shampoo?’

  She held her breath for a moment. She bought the most expensive beauty products available and she never shared.

  ‘OK,’ she said, after a beat. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I? You look as if you’ve got the muse for company anyway.’

  ‘And the mews,’ he said, looking down at Bowyer.

  Hot water was bliss, and so was feeling properly clean after a day of roughing it. She dressed, casually again, and left for town, shouting up to Leonardo before she went.

  The Bledburn branch of Marks and Spencer was small, but probably the only ‘nice’ shop in town: one of very few that didn’t have windows either blacked out or plastered in massive sale signs.

  She thought, as she walked around the grocery aisles looking for picnicky yet healthy foods, about Lawrence and Leonardo. Lawrence Harville was personable, good company, handsome and wealthy but there was something about him that made her keep her distance. What was it? She simply couldn’t put her finger on it.

  On the other hand, Leonardo was terrible on paper – a foul-mouthed fugitive from the wrong side of the tracks, and yet she felt a faith in him, and a trust. She very much wanted him to succeed, and she wanted to be a part of his success. Life had dealt him a bad hand and she was in a position to slip him a few aces. These were strong feelings to be having about a man she had only just met.

  Was it a post-traumatic thing? Stress-related?

  As much as she told herself to step back, to keep him at arm’s length, she found herself all too soon in the menswear section, buying him underwear and socks and some T-shirts and two pairs of jeans. She had to guess his size but he was about six feet tall and, somewhere inside that baggy, scraggy tracksuit, quite well built. It would be nice to see him clean and scrubbed and – oh, razors – shaved, in decent clothes. In fact, something at the back of her mind told her it would be more than nice.

  Ugh, don’t be a cougar! He’s younger than you, late twenties at most.

  There was no harm in aesthetic appreciation of a good-looking man, she told herself. As long as she didn’t embarrass herself by blatantly ogling him.

  ‘Is it Jenna Diamond?’ An elderly lady in a headscarf touched her on the arm.

  ‘Myatt. I don’t go by Diamond any more.’

  ‘Oh, no, sorry. It’s a treat to see you back here in Bledburn. How’s your mum?’

  Jenna focused properly on the woman and saw a face that had often appeared over her garden fence when she was a girl.

  ‘Auntie Jean!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t realise it was you. How are you?’

  ‘Mustn’t grumble,’ she said. ‘Mind, I�
��m not getting any younger and me arthritis has taken a turn. Got a new hip just last year.’

  ‘Oh dear, I hope it’s a good one.’

  ‘Marvellous what they can do these days. Made of rubber, it is.’

  ‘Mum’s fine. And Dad. Enjoying the Spanish sunshine all year round.’ She raised her voice a little; Auntie Jean (her long-time next-door neighbour, not her real aunt) struck her as a trifle hard of hearing. ‘Are you still at Shelley Road?’

  ‘I am. Got new windows and doors put in last month. The council are doing up the whole estate. Well, it’s that or knock it down, isn’t it? Ooh, the state of it now, love. You’d shake your head. You must come round for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Yes, I will. And you’ll have to come and visit me in my new house, once I’ve got it done up.’

  ‘Where’s that then? That new development out of town? Proper nice, those houses are. I’ve seen inside ’em. Our Michaela’s husband did the electrics.’

  ‘No, not there. Harville Hall.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Say, what, dear? I’m a bit deaf, these days.’

  Jenna said it more clearly, conscious of curious nudges and murmurs of recognition going on around her.

  ‘What on earth are you living there for? You aren’t one of them, are you?’

  ‘I bought it.’

  Auntie Jean shook her head. ‘I don’t know what the world’s come to sometimes. Well, don’t forget that cuppa. I must get on.’

  And with that she moved away as fast as her arthritic knees could take her.

  Jean’s husband had left her, when he couldn’t find work after the pit shut. He went to Manchester, looking for something, anything. He didn’t find work, but he did find another woman. Jenna remembered endless cups of very sweet tea in the back kitchen, Jean sobbing all over her mother then putting on lippy and going up the Mecca for bingo.

  She hadn’t told her parents about buying Harville Hall because at the back of her mind she knew that it made her, in some obscure fashion, a traitor. As for lunching with Lawrence of that ilk, it would be considered completely beyond the pale.

  What was she thinking?

  She went to the counter, so lost in thought that she had to be told twice how much she owed. The checkout operator clearly recognised her, but didn’t say anything, to her relief.