Three

As the grandfather clock in the hall of Modesty’s family’s home had struck the half hour, so had the ormolu carriage clock that stood on the counter of Arnold King’s jewellery store in Hatton Garden. In the back room, Arnold’s daughter, Gemma, tucked the telephone under her chin, slid a tray of sapphire and diamond rings into the safe and let out a heavy sigh.

‘Talk about bor-ring,’ she moaned to her friend, Anoushka. She closed the safe door and picked up an emery board. ‘Still, that Saudi bloke I told you about last night is supposed to be coming in a minute. Should brighten things up a bit.’

‘You never know,’ Anoushka replied, trying to cheer up her friend. ‘Maybe he’ll take a fancy to you as well as the diamond and whisk you away to something a bit more exciting.’

‘Hmph!’ Gemma grunted, unconvinced. ‘It wouldn’t take much to be more exciting than this, I can tell you. The most exciting thing that’s happened around here for months was when old Herman Gottlieb across the road got done over by a geriatric with a brick in her handbag.’

‘No way!’

‘Yes way! Asked to see a tray of rings, then whacked him on the head and tried to do a runner.’

‘Did she get away with much?’

‘Neh - security were down on her like a ton of bricks.’ Gemma ran the emery board across her nails.

‘Or a ton of handbags, even!’ Anoushka giggled.

Gemma gave a half-hearted smile and cast a cursory glance at the security camera video screen in front of her. She could see a black and white image of her father in the showroom admiring the newly installed fish tank that a client had suggested might improve business by giving the Feng Shui a boost.

Gemma had to admit that the job had sounded interesting enough when her father had first suggested that she go to work for him. She’d had visions of buying trips to Johannesburg and Australia; glamorous meetings with rich and famous clients; a nice little soft-topped sports car to run around in and maybe even a flat of her own. But, in the eighteen months since she’d left school, the only business trips she’d made were to the deli by the station to pick up her dad’s bagel every lunchtime. And, instead of cruising the West End in a flashy cabriolet, she’d been insured on her dad’s Volvo estate - hardly the cool and sophisticated pick-up- mobile of her dreams.

‘Hey - there’s an idea,’ Anoushka suggested. ‘You could nick a couple of your dad’s rings and we could-’

‘Noush!’ Gemma was shocked. ‘That’s not funny, you know.’

There was an awkward silence.

‘It was just a joke. Jeez, Gemma.’

Gemma bit her bottom lip. ‘I know - sorry. I’m just a bit fed up at the moment. And I’m worried about Dad.’ Ever since her mum had died, Arnold had been like a ship without a rudder. ‘I don’t think he’s very well, you know. He’s been complaining of indigestion a lot recently and, this morning, he had a dizzy turn...’

Her friend interrupted. ‘Listen to yourself! You’re only eighteen and already you’re acting like his nursemaid!’

Gemma stopped filing her nails. ‘I know - you’re right.’ She sighed again. ‘Honestly, Noush - how sad is my life? I need to get out of here. I want something exciting to happen before I fall off my perch completely.’ As she spoke, her eyes drifted to the video screen again. ‘Got to go. That client’s arrived. Speak to you later.’

She went through and joined her father and the distinguished-looking man in the showroom. The client was sitting on one of the leather armchairs in the corner of the shop and making polite conversation about the fish tank. No sooner had Gemma joined them than an elderly man in a long coat came through the door. She recognised him as Sol Winkler, one of the brokers from the Bourse.

The two jewellers greeted each other, then, stepping back, Sol Winkler held out his hands in amazement at Gemma. ‘And look at you! Are you married yet?’

Gemma raised her eyebrows. What was it with the dreaded M word? It was bad enough that her aunts and uncles were on her case to find a boyfriend, but the fact that her father’s work acquaintances were also trying to marry her off was the final straw. She tutted mutinously and picked up the tub of fish food. Determined to show her disaffection with the whole business, she opened the tub of coloured fish flakes and took a pinch between her thumb and forefinger.

Sol Winkler took a paper packet from his waistcoat. With a pair of tweezers, he removed a dazzling rose- coloured crystal from the brifka.

‘Lock the door, will you, princess?’ her father asked, unrolling a grey cloth across the table and switching on a lamp. He put an eyeglass to his eye, picked up the pink diamond in his own tweezers and raised it to the eyeglass.

As the three men studied the diamond intently, Gemma turned towards the door. But before she could do as her father had asked, two other men in overcoats, this time with wide-rimmed hats, had entered the shop.

‘I’m sorry...’ she began and then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a Range Rover through the window, moving slowly forwards along the road in front of the shop. And the young guy in the driving seat looked horribly familiar. Suddenly she had a very bad feeling. Unless she had completely lost all sense of recognition, he was one of the boys she and Noush had been chatting up in the wine bar last night; the total dipstick who’d taken a shine to her. Gemma felt her fingers tighten around the drum of fish food as she was gripped by the overwhelming sensation that all was not well.

She brought her attention back into the shop and saw that the older of the two men had moved towards the window display while the other man was heading for the table where her father and his client were examining the pink diamond.

‘Dad,’ she called, urgently.

Amold King stood up. ‘Er... Gentlemen...’

But before he could complete the sentence, the older of the two men bumped into the modern art sculpture by the window, knocking it over. As the tall metal monolith crashed to the floor, Gemma screamed and dodged out of the way. The opened tub of fish flakes flew into the air and scattered its contents on the scene like confetti.

Seeing that his partner had successfully created the diversion they had planned, Flash Finlayter moved forward quickly, hoping to skim his hand across the counter and pick up the diamond on the double- sided sticky tape that he’d attached to his middle finger. But Sol Winkler had the dubious accolade of being the oldest black belt fifth dan at the Beth Shalom Ju Jitsu and Martial Arts Centre and, the second he realised what was afoot, he brought his elbow swiftly into Flash’s solar plexus, causing him to fold up like a greetings card.

Winded, Flash collapsed to his knees, his mouth opening and closing like the brightly coloured fish in the tank above him. He tried to call out to Archie to abort the snatch, but the only sound that emerged was a wordless rasp.

Amid the chaos, Arnold King was suddenly gripped by a crushing pain and fell forward across the counter, clutching his chest.

‘Dad!’ Gemma screamed, rushing to his aid.

‘Out!’ shouted Archie to Flash.

Flash looked up, wide-eyed and breathless, then relaxed with relief as he drew in a welcome gulp of air. Unfortunately, he also inhaled enough fish food to keep a shoal of shubunkins going for a year. Once again he collapsed forward, gasping and spluttering.

‘Press the alarm,’ Sol Winkler ordered Gemma.

She ran round to where her father was and pressed the button beneath the counter. Metal security screens began to descend over the door and window as Archie Bigg bolted from the shop and into the waiting Range Rover.

The sheik, who until then had been mesmerised into inaction, put an arm out towards Arnold and spoke quietly. ‘I think we should call an ambulance.’

The following morning, before it was fully daylight, Harley Spinks stepped out of a cab and strode murderously up to Mickey Bigg’s front door in the leafy east London suburb of Wanstead. She held down the Westminster chime doorbell with one finger whilst simultaneously banging the letterbox with her other hand and kicking the bottom of the door with her DMs - just in case there was anyone within a three-street radius who remained unaware of her arrival.

Mickey opened the door and greeted her with bleary eyes. ‘Harl, darl!’

‘Don’t Harl darl me,’ she snapped, pushing her way into the house. ‘I wanna talk to your old man - now!’

‘Hi, Harley.’ Her best friend and school accomplice, Cynthia Bigg, fluttered downstairs in a satin negligée and footwear that looked as though she’d slipped her feet into a pair of pink poodles.

‘Wotcha, Cynth. This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you - it’s your dad and Mickey I want to talk to. So go back to bed.’

‘Aw, but Harley!’ Cynthia pouted.

‘I said, later, Cynth!’

Her friend skulked back up the wrought-iron staircase like a wounded puppy.

Archie passed his daughter as he stumbled downstairs tying the sash of his scarlet kimono over his gold lamé pyjamas. ‘What the bleedin’ ‘ell?’ he yawned.

‘You and me need to talk.’ Harley strode into the kitchen, pulled out a chair and indicated for Archie to sit down. She tossed a newspaper on to the table and began to quote. ‘Rare Pink Diamond Stolen!’ She tapped a finger on the headline. ‘Did you hear that, Archie? Stolen!’

Archie picked up the paper and read the article:

Rare Pink Diamond Stolen

Police are today hunting a callous diamond thief who got away with a rare pink diamond worth £2.5 million.

Two men died in the raid on a high-class jewellers in London’s Hatton Garden, when thieves walked into the King of Diamonds store. Arnold King, the owner of the shop, suffered a heart attack and was taken to University College Hospital where he was pronounced dead on arrival. The other man, believed to be the thief’s accomplice, is thought to have choked on some fish food and died at the scene.

Archie rubbed his hand across his forehead. ‘Flash is dead? I can’t believe it.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Harley said, dismissively. ‘But you’re missin’ the point. It says ‘ere that the diamond was stolen and, correct me if I misunderstood what you said yesterday, but I thought you told me you ‘adn’t got it.’

‘I swear to you, gel, I ain’t got it.’ Archie picked up the paper again and shook his head in disbelief.

‘Blimey, I can’t believe poor old Flash is a gonner. ‘Is missus’ll be devastated.’

‘Yeah, tragic.’ Harley was growing impatient. Mickey pulled the newspaper from his father’s grasp and frowned. ‘Did they really say you was callous? Blimey, Dad - that ain’t fair.’

‘Bleedin’ ‘ell, Mickey, that’s the best bit!’ Harley glared at her boyfriend incredulously. ‘I cannot Adam an’ Eve you two. ‘Ave you any idea of the consequences of this revelation?’

Father and son looked first at each other and then at Harley. Neither made any response.

‘Let me put it another way, you pair of doughnuts. I’ve got a visiting order to see my dad in The Marsh next weekend, by which time every bloke on ‘is wing will ‘ave read this and be under the impression that you, Arch, ‘ave got the diamond - and that my old man’s stay courtesy of ‘Er Majesty will very soon be comin’ to an early close.’

‘But I ain’t got it,’ Archie reiterated.

Harley tapped her Doc Marten on the quarry-tiled floor of the Biggs’ kitchen. ‘Well, if you ain’t got it and the paper says the shop ain’t got it, who the bleedin’ ‘ell ‘as got it?’

The three of them scratched their heads in baffled silence. Then the realisation hit them, like dawn breaking over a refuse dump.

Archie and Harley looked at each other. ‘Flash!’ they said in unison.

Mickey nodded vaguely then frowned. ‘But I thought you said Flash was dead, Dad?’

‘ ‘E is, son, ‘e is.’

‘So,’ Harley gave a hideously triumphant grin, ‘your mission, Archie - an’ I strongly suggest you choose to accept it - is to steal the diamond back off of Flash’s dead body.’ She gave Mickey’s cheek a playful pat. ‘Piece of cake.’