Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend

by Jenny Colgan

  ‘No!’ I said. But I couldn’t deny it had crossed my mind. He was so much fun, so flirty and cuddly and handsome. And rich, of course, that was useful too. It would be nice to live in his little Kensington crash pad rather than having to stay at home. Home was lovely and everything, but I wouldn’t mind being away from my step-monster. Our relationship hadn’t really improved much since I’d deliberately scowled through all one hundred and seventy wedding photos.

  Philly leaned forward. ‘Well, it is the gallery party tonight . . .’

  The gallery party was one of the social highlights of the year, held outside in a London park. It was extremely romantic.

  ‘Oh, you never know,’ said Carena.

  ‘It’s only been four months,’ I said, refusing to let them get my hopes up. ‘Plus, I haven’t even met his parents yet. I suppose they’ll need to check me out to see if I’m suitable heiress potential.’

  Carena raised her eyebrows. ‘Is he quite that rich?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘His dad’s in pharmaceuticals. Apparently the kidnapping insurance premiums would be higher than anything Rufus could bring in. That’s why he doesn’t work.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t realise . . . I mean he always dresses like such a scruff.’

  ‘I like the way he dresses,’ I said. In fact he lived in an old corduroy suit that his dad had given him. Shopping was too boring for Rufus.

  ‘Now that is true love,’ said Carena, polishing off the last of the champagne in her glass.

  ‘Hello, Sophia, darling,’ Daddy said as I passed him on the stairway.

  ‘Hi, Daddy.’

  Our relationship had changed when Gail came. It was still warm and loving. But it was as if he’d seen a side to me he hadn’t realised was there before. For my part, I was sure she was always feeding him stories about me, which made me more awkward. Now we were over the teenage years and I had lots of freedom it was better, but it could still be tricky, especially since Gail thought I should work more, which was rich, because she’d given up working completely the day she’d married Daddy. And surely Rufus wouldn’t want me to work anyway, except some charity stuff probably. That was a nice thought.

  ‘Been at work today?’

  I squirmed. It’s not like I didn’t have a job; technically I did. I was an assistant to Julius Mandinski, the fashion photographer. After I left school, with two not very impressive A levels (a bad return on his investment, my dad noted ruefully, though he certainly got his money’s worth on my Kendalls attitude), I went to Oxford Brookes to study photography because I still had my father’s Leica and loved taking photos. Secretly I really enjoyed it, but a lot of the girls from Kendalls were there and we were out every night at college balls, which seemed far more important at the time.

  Julius had about fifty assistants. It didn’t exactly pay much money and it was very unpredictable, because Julius would only work with the crème de la crème of models and on bizarre projects. So if it involved some nine foot Romanian sixteen-year-old cast upside down in a pool of resin draped in wild armadillos, Julius was your man. I usually just went in a couple of times a week to stand around and look moody whilst fetching vodka for the models. I hardly ever took a frame myself. It helped my dad feel I was doing something to justify my allowance. Carena didn’t do anything at all.

  ‘Yes, kind of. I caught up with the girls.’

  ‘So, not actually at work then, kiddo?’

  ‘No. I like your new tie, Daddy.’

  But he didn’t look in the mood to be fobbed off. He didn’t look well, actually. Gail was always trying to get him to cut down on the brandy and rich food at the Savoy Grill, but he didn’t really listen and I never backed her up on any subject as a matter of principle.

  ‘You know, when I was your age—’

  ‘You’d bought a company. I know, I know.’

  ‘I mean, Gail showed me your grooming bills . . .’

  Hmm, thanks, Gail, I thought resentfully.

  ‘And, I mean, darling. You’re spending more at your hairdresser’s than I pay my juniors in a year.’

  I shook out my long pale golden mane and gave a soulful look. ‘But I thought you liked my hair, Daddy.’

  ‘I do, sweetheart. But I just want you to find . . . you know, something more useful to do.’

  ‘Julius Mandinski is one of the most successful fashion photographers in the country.’

  Daddy looked a bit sad. ‘Well, you know I don’t understand any of that stuff.’ Then he smiled. ‘But I know you have a new boyfriend. You look secretive. When do I get to meet him?’

  Now that, I hoped I could do. In fact, I was rather hoping Rufus might ask to see my father soon, with a view to asking him something . . .

  ‘I’ll bring him over,’ I said, smiling. ‘You’ll like him.’

  I hoped he would. My dad was self-made and could sometimes be a little funny about trustafarians, but everyone liked Rufus. Even Carena liked him, and she never liked anyone I went out with.

  ‘Seeing him at this party tonight?’

  ‘Yes!’ I couldn’t help but grin. I couldn’t wait to see him.

  Daddy eyed my bags. ‘Wearing a new dress?’

  Carena and I had done a little shopping, and I’d bought the most romantic dress I could find. There was a lot of sheer fabric, and it was quite long - not my usual type at all. ‘That,’ Carena had observed, ‘looks like a very fiancée-esque dress.’

  ‘Do you want the boys to like me?’

  ‘I want everyone to like you. For you, not some dress, pumpkin.’

  He kissed me lightly on the forehead. ‘Don’t drink too much vodka, OK?’

  Gail was standing at the top of the stairs. ‘Did you speak to her?’ she hissed at my dad, who looked guilty.

  ‘I just have to go make a phone call in the office,’ he said, slinking away. Gail gave me a look.

  ‘Hello, Gail,’ I said, hoping Esperanza would have started running my bath; I like a good long soak before I go out in the evening. Gail sighed. ‘Your father and I are worried about you.’

  ‘Really,’ I said. I knew what was coming.

  ‘Your credit card bills . . . Sophie, I know you get quite a lot of leeway, but this is just ridiculous. You’re taking the p—You’re being a little ridiculous. And you really should be looking for a proper job.’

  ‘Sorry, Gail, could we talk about this later?’ I said. ‘I’m in a bit of a rush.’

  When it came to special treats, Daddy would always take me out by himself. For my twenty-fifth birthday he took me to lunch at Le Gavroche, and told me lots of stories about growing up in Nebraska. I’d heard them all many times before but I didn’t mind in the slightest, it was just great to be with him.

  At lunch, we toasted my mother as usual and I saw his eyes filling, but then at the last moment he leaned over and clasped my hand, and I saw that he was going to be fine.

  ‘Gail does make me happy, you know,’ he said, after a moment had passed. I didn’t answer, but I did pat his hand, thinking it might make him feel better.

  Afterwards, he took me to Asprey, where the staff knew him, and picked out the most gorgeous diamond necklace for me.

  ‘You deserve diamonds,’ he said. ‘These are flawless, like you.’

  ‘I’m not flawless,’ I protested.

  My dad made as if to glance around and theatrically lowered his voice. ‘I know,’ he whispered loudly. ‘But I’m your dad, so I’m allowed to pretend that you are.’

  He finished doing them up and we looked at my reflection in the mirror.

  ‘What does “igloo” mean?’ I said, noticing something written on the box.

  ‘They’re Canadian diamonds. Ethical. No one got hurt mining for them, no one got shot trading them. So they are good as well as beautiful.’

  He stroked my cheek lightly. ‘We’ll take ’em,’ he said to the clerk.

  The diamonds caught the light brilliantly; they were so clear it was quite shocking.

  ‘Straigh
t to the safe,’ he said, smiling. ‘But just in case you ever felt the need to look extra-beautiful . . .’

  I gave him a big hug. I knew I was spoiled, and lucky. After these lunches I would always resolve to be a bit nicer to my stepmother, because I loved my dad so much.

  ‘I love them.’

  ‘I love you.’

  Chapter Four

  Later that evening, I left the house for the party, heading down the steps to the cab. I wasn’t to know it would be my last evening in this gilded world. I was wearing a lovely dress which shimmered in the late evening sunshine, a strappy pair of black Gina shoes and my hair was straight, soft and shone like butter. It was a warm evening, a time of day when London feels full of anticipation, I was young, rich, spoilt and in love, and I was on my way to the hottest party of the year. Everything was good.

  The party was in Hyde Park. Huge sculptures had been erected throughout the grounds, and there were tents made of large swathes of material, lit by jetting flames. The waiters and waitresses were dressed in white togas and circulating with cocktails and small canapés, which I ignored, naturally. The setting sun reflected off the white draped linen and everything seemed bathed in bright pink light. It was quite beautiful.

  There was no Rufus yet, and I couldn’t see Carena either, so Philly and I helped ourselves to drinks and admired the acrobats tumbling across the lawn.

  ‘Where’s Rufus?’ I asked immediately.

  ‘Er, I’m not sure. Shall we mingle?’ said Philly quickly.

  I took another slug of my drink. Everywhere I looked there were couples laughing and looking deliberately glamorous together. There were photographers from magazines and thus a lot of hair tossing going on. I wondered if Rufus and I would get our picture taken . . . suddenly I was lost in a reverie about us announcing our marriage in The Times, maybe getting in a magazine - young society wedding of the year . . . I couldn’t wait to see Rufus’s country house, maybe we could have the wedding there . . .

  Interrupting my daydream, my phone rang. Dad. Gail must have been on at him about my credit card bill again.

  ‘Sophia, I need to speak to you now.’

  I winced. The party was getting busier and I could see some more people I knew coming in. Talking to my parent on the phone wasn’t the coolest way to greet them. ‘Dad, I’m really busy right now.’

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

  ‘Well, can it wait?’ I said impatiently. The music and chatter was so loud it would be patently obvious to a four-year-old that I was at a party. There was a long silence at the end of the phone.

  ‘Come home as soon as you can,’ he said finally.

  Feeling cross and sullen, I grabbed another drink and guzzled it, quicker than I normally would.

  I turned away, stumbling through the party looking for my boyfriend. Philly had disappeared to network frantically so I felt grumpy and alone. Rufus had said he’d be here on time, yet here I was, in this pretty, flimsy dress, marching about like it was the first day of school all over again. I tried his phone, but it was switched off.

  Finally, behind yet another flimsy sheet, right in the corner of the tent, I caught sight of him. He had his back to me. God, he was good-looking. His hair was dark and slicked back, and those white teeth. And the corduroy suit, of course.

  There was obviously some kind of Moroccan theme back here, and there were cushions and candles strewn everywhere; across the grass and in cunning little nooks like this one. The drapery had changed from white linen to red velvet. One side was still open to the garden but we were almost completely hidden from view.

  I turned off my phone, which had rang again with a call from Daddy - I didn’t pick up - and started to head over. Rufus was talking to someone, I couldn’t see who.

  ‘Haven’t you been a naughty girl?’ he was saying, in those familiar, flirtatious tones.

  ‘Oh, Rufus, do you think I need spanking?’ came the reply.

  I froze. It was Carena’s voice. It couldn’t be.

  I stood there, absolutely rooted to the spot. I couldn’t believe what was happening, right in front of my eyes. They were so close to one another . . . Carena was wearing an absolutely fierce super-mini skirt. Next to it my romantic dress suddenly felt utterly ridiculous.

  ‘Come here, you,’ Rufus said. It’s what he always said to me. But he wasn’t saying it to me. As if watching a film, two people I didn’t know at all, I watched as, in total slow motion, Carena moved her face up to meet his, and suddenly they were kissing.

  The second they connected, I came back to myself. And I heard myself screaming.

  ‘What the fu—!’

  The worst of it was, that they didn’t even leap apart. Rufus shook his head, looking like a confused dog. Carena looked at me with a pitying expression - one I’d seen so often at school but had never had directed at me before. It hurt.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I screamed again, stopping the party in its tracks.

  Suddenly, a load of flashbulbs went off in my face. The paparazzi may not know who I was, but this smelled like a story.

  Carena turned round to me. ‘I know this looks terrible,’ she announced, unbelievably composed.

  You think?

  ‘But, Sophie - I think true love has struck us! And nothing could keep us apart.’

  ‘Um, hmm,’ said Rufus.

  My brain tried to compute what I was seeing. They were hiding in a corner. He had his hand on her arse. It didn’t look exactly like true love.

  But I thought of what I’d told Carena that afternoon. About how this was the man, the life, the fun - everything I wanted. And all those years we’d been friends and I’d told her how wonderful she was, how cool and brave and fun. And finally I had something she’d wanted . . . and she’d taken it. Just taken it.

  Philly rushed up, ludicrous in a maxi dress that made her look like she was shuffling about on her knees. ‘Sorry, Carena, I tried to distract her . . .’

  Oh God, so she knew all about it. When had they cooked up this little plan?

  I stared at the three of them, aware my mouth was flapping like a jellyfish. I wanted to say something witty and devastating. Or, OK, I couldn’t think of anything witty and devastating. Something rude and to the point. But I opened my mouth and no sound came out. Nothing at all. It was as if, at the same time as Rufus slashed my heart, he took my vocal chords along with it. I waited two seconds, just in case Rufus might turn and look at Carena, slap his forehead in despair and shout, ‘Sophie, what was I thinking? This horrible slut put something in my drink and bamboozled me, but how could she when it’s you I love? You I want to be with and look after and build a gorgeous life with for ever! Get away from me, you hag!’

  I waited. He didn’t. Carena glared at me, grasping the sleeves of his jacket. Rufus wasn’t looking at anyone, in the manner of a dog just caught misbehaving under the table.

  There was nothing else for it. I took off my six-hundred-pound shoes and threw them at them as hard as I could, then turned around and ran for it.

  Sitting in the back of the taxi, my whole body was red hot. I could feel myself trembling. How could she? How could he? My pretty dress felt like a silly joke. I burned up thinking about what I had said to the girls at lunch . . . about how, maybe one day, I thought we might be . . . I shook my head to try and get rid of the image. Then I remembered mentioning Rufus’s big house. Was it possible? Had Carena suddenly realised that he was richer than she’d thought? No, surely not.

  I thought about Carena - my best friend, who took me to my first Take That concert, and my first nightclub, gave me my first glass of champagne. What was she doing now? Was she still at the party complaining that I completely overreacted? Or was she embarrassed? Had she rushed out, feeling awful at kissing her friend’s man? Somehow, grimly, I didn’t think so. Oh God. Suddenly I thought I was going to be sick.

  ‘You all right, love?’ asked the cabbie, looking concerned.

  I felt the tears well up. My sexy, fu
nny Rufus - mine! My lovely boy! - distracted in three seconds by a short skirt and a surprised-looking face. To lose a friend and a boyfriend all at once. How could life be so cruel?

  At first I didn’t see the ambulance. I was half-blinded by tears, and the savage amount of alcohol I’d managed to knock back, so I didn’t really pay attention until I saw it was right outside our house.