The Pearl Thief

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘… and he yelled “Jump!”’

  The woman laughed harder.

  ‘What else could I do? I jumped straight in, fully clothed.’

  Katerina felt a moment’s regret at spoiling their fun as the woman tipped back her chin, entirely entertained with unrestrained amusement. As he sat back, pleased with his efforts, he became aware of Katerina. He looked deeply at her and then away as if momentarily stunned but it turned immediately to a frown … a precious moment to gather his thoughts.

  ‘Forgive me, I know I shouldn’t be here,’ she began.

  ‘You’re following me?’ He sounded so offended she was momentarily lost for the right words.

  She could hardly deny his accusation. Katerina glanced at the woman, suddenly all amusement gone from her expression. ‘I’m sorry to intrude,’ she said to her. ‘I need a few words with Mr Summerbee.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ he assured her, his voice hardening from the convivial tone it had possessed just a moment or two earlier. ‘Mademoiselle, this is most inappropriate —’

  ‘So is murder!’ she snapped and looked around, immediately lowering her voice. ‘You can see I have no shame, Mr Summerbee, because honestly there’s not a lot left for me to lose.’

  He blinked, angry and concerned at once. ‘This is neither the time nor the place, mademoiselle.’

  ‘I don’t care about what’s right or polite, Mr Summerbee; surely you can tell that much. Have you read my letter?’

  His generous mouth thinned at being interrogated so inappropriately. His companion cleared her throat and stood. ‘Alice, don’t …’

  ‘Edward, it’s fine. I’m just going to powder my nose. I shan’t be long.’ She glanced at Katerina as if permission was being given but not before laying a proprietorial hand on his shoulder for Katerina’s benefit. ‘Back soon, darling.’

  She replaced the attractive woman, seating herself opposite the solicitor.

  ‘This is so wrong of you,’ he asserted, glaring at her.

  She blinked and he cleared his throat as drinks arrived with a new waiter, who was none the wiser that the women had been swapped. She noticed the salon had begun to fill with other cocktailhour patrons who would, she presumed, become diners in a while. The atmosphere was turning jollier but she imagined it would never be allowed to crowd. They had their privacy, but she only had minutes.

  ‘A Sidecar for the lady,’ the waiter said, putting down a champagne bowl glass that blazed orange and had a sugar crust around its rim and a curl of orange zest floating like a smile on its surface.

  She played along to keep the peace. ‘Looks delicious, thank you.’

  The waiter nodded. ‘That’s the very finest French cognac with curaçao, triple sec and fresh lemon juice. And for you, Mr Summerbee, I have your Negroni.’ Edward thanked him and the man departed with a small nod.

  ‘Right, say what you have to and then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

  She nodded. ‘Did you read my letter?’

  ‘I did not.’

  Another surprise. A horrible one. She had felt certain Summerbee would not have resisted the contents of her thick envelope. He was proving to be a conundrum and in spite of how quietly distraught she now felt, her estimation of his integrity had escalated sharply.

  ‘You looked shocked but I cannot imagine why,’ he growled, grabbing his cocktail. He drained a slug of it. It looked like an unhappy swallow with the sour look that followed. ‘Now you’ve ruined my favourite drink.’

  She gave a mirthless grin. ‘A small price. Does your conscience not demand that you —’

  ‘Mademoiselle Kassel, or Kassowicz, or whatever name you’re using now, I have a paying client. How can I say this to make you understand that I have a legal obligation and responsibility? I am bound by the law of the land. There are rules, codes of conduct – just sitting here with you is potentially breaching that.’

  ‘Then breach it properly. Help me! Your client is a cold-blooded murderer. He is a Nazi responsible for the torture and deaths of many. I watched him murder my parents and my three sisters. Each of those girls was under ten years old. If you touch my head here,’ she said, reaching behind, ‘you will feel a scar. That’s the track his bullet left when it missed killing me in 1941. It was shot from his pistol and I heard his laughter when it hit me.’

  His gaze, burning with anger, felt as though it would scorch her if he didn’t look away. She could tell he was moved – genuinely shocked. His companion had re-entered the salon and was approaching. She really should leave.

  ‘Read my letter, Mr Summerbee, and then make a decision. I don’t claim to know the law but I suspect there must be occasion that if you feel following client instructions could damage your firm or your reputation, you have an option to refuse.’

  He looked back at her as if they were both speaking different languages. He laughed but there was no amusement in it. He raised his glass to her. ‘To a well-made Negroni,’ he said. ‘I’ll read your letter, mademoiselle,’ and took another swallow of his cocktail.

  She noted his large, crooked hands around the fragile stem of the glass and was inwardly horrified to feel a pang of pleasure at the silly flashing image of those hands cupping her face rather than a glass. She coughed slightly and surprised herself by picking up the other woman’s drink and sipping. A zing of citrus chased by a heavy warming of powerful French brandy woke her up. ‘It’s all I ask,’ she remarked.

  ‘Oh, I doubt that, mademoiselle.’ He stood as his guest arrived. Katerina followed suit. ‘Alice, you shall have to forgive me. There’s some urgent business I must attend to that Mademoiselle Kassel has brought to my attention.’

  ‘Edward, surely …’ She frowned.

  ‘It’s my fault, something I’ve overlooked.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Come on, I’ll get you a taxi and I promise to make it up to you tenfold.’

  Alice slanted her a look that felt so cutting, she could imagine a thin ooze of blood across her cheek. ‘Thank you for ruining our evening. And there I was trying to be gracious.’

  ‘Alice …’ he began, a tone of warning.

  ‘No, Alice, you are right. I’m so sorry and you have been most gracious, but this really is urgent and important,’ Katerina tried.

  It only appeased the woman slightly, and she made sure Edward understood that making it up to her was going to cost him a small fortune.

  At the main entrance of the Café Royal they looked out into the murkiness of the night and Edward turned to her with a resigned drop of his shoulders. ‘Oh, blast! I think I left my wretched brolly in the taxi,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Will the hotel lend us one, perhaps?’

  ‘I’m sure, but look, let’s just hail a taxi and work it out from there.’ The doorman was not to be seen so they stood in the drizzle at the kerbside.

  ‘Can you try not to hate me for the next hour, perhaps?’

  ‘I don’t hate you. I hate being manipulated.’

  ‘Then can you pretend at least?’

  He sighed and she watched his body relax. He’d forced the change but she found the shift in tone helplessly attractive. ‘I once went through those revolving doors,’ he said, pointing back towards the entrance of the Café Royal. ‘I was leaving – as Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were arriving.’

  Katerina’s eyes widened with wonder; all she’d hoped for was for him to stop glaring and grinding his jaw, but conversation she hadn’t anticipated. She felt a fresh flutter of admiration for his gallantry.

  ‘I had to go around twice, I was so stunned. She is truly and ridiculously beautiful. I think they were drunk and it was about two o’clock in the afternoon, but they seemed to be very much in love, laughing a lot, both fitting into one compartment of the revolving door. Gosh, I would love to have squeezed in with her and that low-cut dress.’

  Katerina let out a gust of amusement at his admission; she hadn’t picked Edward Summerbee to go near the topic of sex but he seemed not at all abashed fo
r mentioning it.

  Edward suddenly craned his neck and let out a piercing whistle. It must be one of the rules of employment at Summerbee & Associates, she thought, wondering if Miss Bailey could also whistle up a cab as easily. The doorman hurried up alongside to hold a huge umbrella over them while they waited.

  ‘Where did you learn to make that enormous sound?’ she asked, desperately wishing she could dab the drop of rain that was running down his long, straight nose.

  He sniffed, dug inside his coat to his jacket pockets, fished out a large handkerchief and dried his face. ‘Ooh, sorry. Er … On the family farm. I learned from my father how to train dogs.’

  ‘Really? Farm boy turned lawyer.’ She sounded impressed.

  ‘Oh, well, my brother was the better farmer … better with all things physical, whereas I suppose I took advantage of a good education.’

  ‘I think you’re being modest.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Do you miss the farm?’

  ‘Every day,’ he said, and she felt touched by the soft pain in his words.

  She watched him glance to the doorman in thanks as the taxi purred up glistening in the rain.

  Edward gave the driver his address at Lancaster Gate and sat back. The vehicle rumbled past the great Georgian sweep of Regent Street, out of Piccadilly proper and towards Hyde Park Corner.

  ‘Now I just have to explain to Violet and Pansy why I have a beautiful multilingual foreigner with me.’

  She stiffened at the thought of disapproving women at the other end. ‘I’m sorry, I made a presumption,’ she said, colouring as she thought of Alice. ‘I didn’t realise you were married.’

  ‘I’m not. Violet’s an old friend and Pansy is her daughter. They live with me.’

  This struck her as odd but there was never any accounting for the eccentricities of the British.

  ‘They retire early, especially Violet. Pansy will likely do the polite thing and introduce herself but I doubt she’ll stay.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘It’s rare I have visitors.’

  ‘It’s rare I accept invitations.’

  ‘I didn’t invite you.’

  ‘And still you are taking me to your home.’

  He held up a blunt finger. ‘My home office.’

  She gave a shrug as if to say it was much the same to her but Katerina knew this was more than she could have hoped for and needed to curb her pointed remarks.

  He began humming a song – it sounded nervous, as though he was already regretting them being together like this.

  ‘Do you like the Beatles?’ she asked.

  ‘Very much. I went to see them earlier this month at the Royal Albert Hall.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have picked you as a popular music man … but it’s not fair to judge, is it?’

  ‘Especially should you get it wrong,’ he replied.

  ‘I have a … friend … who would cut off an arm, I’m sure, to see the Beatles perform.’

  He gave an easier smile. ‘You should take her to the Majestic later this month – they’re performing in London again.’

  ‘It’s a he, actually.’

  ‘Oh, well, take him.’

  The rain began to subside and by the time they’d stepped out of the taxi, no umbrella was required.

  They stood outside a row of elegant wrought-iron railings that belonged to a wide terrace of identical cream buildings that screamed, Important and wealthy people live here. ‘So here we are.’ He appeared more comfortable now they were at his home. He made an expansive gesture across Bayswater Road. ‘That’s Kensington Park, and if we keep walking through, you’d come to Kensington Palace.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, getting her bearings.

  ‘If it’s dry, I usually walk to my offices. It takes me a full hour but it’s a straight line from here so I get to stare into the windows of places like Selfridges on my way. And sometimes I angle through the great park on a different route.’ He gave a brief grin. ‘Means I always arrive with a clear head.’

  ‘I wondered how you managed to cut such a lean figure if you dine out at grand places like the Café Royal.’

  ‘So you’ve been pondering my physique, have you?’ he teased, and Katerina was glad the spill of the street lamp couldn’t show the warmth that erupted across her complexion. Nevertheless, she was grateful for his graciousness at setting his understandable snarls aside for the time being.

  Edward found his keys and opened the door to the house embedded within a grand stuccoed terrace of English baroque. She could swear there was French detailing but she couldn’t linger in the cold and so stepped into a quiet world of soaring ceilings, ornate decoration and marble fireplaces.

  ‘I’m afraid this is my housekeeper’s day off, so we shall have to look after ourselves. Ah … and here comes Pansy. Miss Violet won’t be far away.’

  A small terrier arrived from upstairs to clatter across the black and white tiles of the reception, followed by an elderly version, and Katerina watched a happy reunion.

  ‘They’re dogs!’ she said, and knew the remark revealed more of her thoughts than she wanted.

  ‘I can’t imagine what else you thought they may be,’ he said with a wink that also took her by surprise. The dogs sniffed around her ankles, tails wagging. ‘They’re my best friends, these two,’ he added. ‘Shall I take your coat?’

  She allowed him to help her slip the garment off.

  ‘Let me just hang this up,’ he said, opening a cloakroom door and taking out a coat hanger. ‘Right, follow me into the parlour briefly. It will be warm there.’

  She obeyed, not allowing herself to ponder the notion of how strangely comfortable she felt around Edward Summerbee. She liked how he could hover between the charming entertainer and the cool professional. Allowing her into his private space was no little generosity, she was sure, which perhaps meant she – or at least her plight – had worked her way beneath his defences. It was entirely unfair what she had done to him; he was now essentially breaking the very laws his status as solicitor advocate needed him to always uphold. But then the murder of her family was unfair too, and that trumped all.

  ‘Mademoiselle, I was planning on eating out tonight as perhaps you’d have guessed, so you’ll forgive me if I poke around in the fridge for something to eat.’

  ‘So long as you read my letter, I don’t mind what you do.’

  He nodded. ‘I have it right here,’ he said, tapping his jacket pocket over his heart. ‘A man must eat, though. And so must a woman. Can I offer you something?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘It makes it awkward for me to chew if someone is watching me.’

  ‘I’ll look away.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You’ll share what I have or I won’t read.’

  She nodded. ‘All right, I’ll eat.’

  ‘Well, let’s see what we have,’ he said, pushing through the door and into a kitchen-cum-parlour that was warmed by a range. It was homely, painted soft sage green and cream with lots of domestic clutter. He noted her taking stock. ‘I don’t cook. This is all Mrs Lawson and her acquisitions.’

  She nodded. ‘I think it’s cosy, although I reckon I could fit my apartment in Paris into this area alone.’

  He grinned. ‘It’s a big house for one person and two small dogs to rattle around, I’ll grant you. But it belonged to our family – my mother was not a typical farmer’s wife and she liked her city dwelling. I couldn’t bear to part with it.’ He dragged open the heavy door of the refrigerator. ‘Aha, soup. How about I warm up some delicious …’ He paused while he checked what sort of soup he was offering. ‘Looks like pea and ham hock … sound good?’

  ‘Thank you. Can I help?’

  ‘Bowls over there. Spoons in there. Napkins … oh, look around. You’ll find what you need,’ he said, reaching for a saucepan.

  ‘Why don’t I warm the soup and you grab the rest because you know where to look?’

  ‘Good plan, Dr Watson.’ />
  She frowned.

  ‘Sherlock Holmes?’ he tried again.

  She frowned deeper.

  ‘Oh well. Ladle in that drawer and matches to light the gas over here.’

  She watched him pull off his jacket and drape it around a chair; it had a flamboyant red lining he could keep mostly hidden from his colleagues. She liked his secret life of fashion. Her letter was visible in the inside pocket and she looked away as he pulled off his monogrammed cufflinks – the conservative did battle with the liberal inside him – and began rolling up his shirtsleeves to get busy laying the table. ‘I think some wine … yes?’

  ‘All right.’

  He poured them both a small glass of white wine he found in the fridge. ‘It’s a lovely Chablis.’ He handed her a glass. ‘Santé.’

  She raised her glass to him before turning back to stir the soup. Katerina leaned against the warm range, sipping Chablis – which was delicious – and stirring gently and absently at the soup. ‘How did your hands become so oddly shaped?’ This had troubled her when they’d first met and now it nagged harder; she hadn’t meant to blurt it out but at least it kept the conversation going.

  He put his glass down after his first sip and glanced at them. ‘These really are farmer’s hands, although I blame endless matches of rugby, which I still play a little today, plus a lot of happy gardening, carpentry for a hobby … and increasingly a bit of arthritis coming on.’

  He sounded so homely, she wished she could enter his life just for a day and know what it felt like to be someone who, outwardly, seemed so content and at ease with the world.

  ‘I do like the law, though,’ he continued. ‘I know it can often feel unfair but the law is about fairness. It’s about living by rules that treat everyone the same no matter your creed, your colour, your social standing.’