Although Liz Driscoll knew her husband was going to Spain, Rika had no idea that Wilcox was leaving. He put the twins in his car, saying he was taking them to stay with their mother for a few days, and never returned.
De Jersey occupied himself with his horses. The friction between him and Christina had not eased and was a constant source of worry to him. It came to a head on the night of the television documentary. Christina was watching it in the bedroom, while he saw it in his study with brandy and a cigar. Halfway through he clenched the cigar in his teeth, switched off the television set, and got to his feet.
Christina heard her husband leaving the house and watched him drive away in the Range Rover from the bedroom window. She waited for a full ten minutes, but he did not return, and by the time she went back to the program it was over. The constant references to Philip Simmons had terrified her because, although the man was described as having red hair and a mustache, it had also been suggested that this might be a disguise. The man they wished to question had either worn a wig or dyed his hair. Although the computerized pictures of Britain’s “Most Wanted Man” did not look like her husband, the description of his size, demeanor, and military bearing made her suspicious.
Christina went into de Jersey’s office and closed the door. The room still smelled of his cigar, and the brandy glass was half full, as if he intended returning shortly. She went to his desk and tried the drawers. All had been fitted with new locks and handles. Christina was of two minds whether to force the locks again. Then she saw the keys on the desk. She opened the first drawer on the left side. It contained a few papers but nothing of importance. The next drawer contained veterinary and feed bills, and a stack of brochures for horse auctions in Ireland. The next had details of sales at Tattersalls, all of which she had already seen. She then turned to the right-hand side of the desk, opened the secret compartment, and removed everything, placing it on top of the desk. The envelope with the passports was no longer there. In its place was the last will and testament of Edward de Jersey. He had left his estate to Christina and their daughters. Also included were many donations to charities and detailed lists of personal mementos and monies to be paid to his staff. The will must have been drawn up a long time ago, not just because of the date but because she knew there was now no money for donations. She found nothing incriminating, except that he had removed the passports. Had he found a new hiding place for them?
She relocked the drawers and replaced the keys on the desk. She was calmer now but still disturbed. She kept telling herself that she was being paranoid. As if she was on automatic pilot, though, she began to search her husband’s dressing room. She went first to the underwear drawers, then to his socks and the shelves containing his cashmere sweaters. She felt underneath them. She searched his jackets, his shoes and boots. It was a waste of time. She stood up in a rage and swiped at the hangers. Jackets fell noiselessly to the floor, and the ineffectiveness of the search made her scream with frustration.
She returned to the bedroom, opening bedside cabinets and drawers, then threw herself on the floor to look under the bed. By now she did not care about covering her tracks and frantically searched everywhere, even the girls’ bedrooms. All she wanted was something, anything to stop the nagging fear that her husband was somehow involved in the robbery of the Crown Jewels.
It was after twelve when Christina, exhausted, went downstairs to get a whiskey. She had looked just about everywhere, but as she passed the cloakroom, she paused. De Jersey’s riding caps and jackets were stacked near the rows of Wellingtons and boots. She picked up one after another, turning them upside down. Something was lodged in the toe of a muddy riding boot, hidden beneath a thick, rolled-up sock. As she took out the sock, her heart pounded. Resting against the wall, she withdrew an object wrapped in an old cloth, then sank slowly to the ground as she looked at the glittering stone: the Koh-i-noor Diamond. There was no denying it. She had found what she had been looking for.
De Jersey returned at about one fifteen. He was carrying a black briefcase and entered silently. He went into his study and put the case beneath his desk. He looked down at the drawers, picked up the keys, and weighed them in his hand for a moment. Then he hurried to the cloakroom. He didn’t have to turn on the light to realize that the coats had been searched. He turned and made his way up the stairs. All the bedroom lights were on, and he prowled from room to room before entering his own bedroom. There was only a small bedside lamp on, and from the doorway he could see the disturbance.
Christina was waiting in bed for him, a pillow behind her head. He leaned against the doorframe and smiled. “Did you find what you were looking for?” He came to stand at the end of the bed, his eyes boring into hers as he eased off one shoe, then the other, and kicked them aside.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. Christina turned away from him. He took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, then walked into the bathroom and closed the door. She could hear the shower being turned on, and off a little later, the clink of his toothbrush in the glass, and then his electric shaver buzzing. It was over fifteen minutes before he walked out wearing a white towel robe. In his bare feet, he crossed to his dressing room, glanced inside and saw the fallen clothes and coat hangers, then went to the dressing table.
“You have been busy,” he said mockingly as he combed his wet hair, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Then he turned.
She wanted to hide from his eyes, and at first she couldn’t work out why she felt that way. Then it came to her. It was because she found him so sexually attractive, more than she had for a long time. His presence filled the darkened bedroom, and she was not afraid of him anymore.
“We need to talk.” Her voice was surprisingly calm.
“Not yet.” De Jersey pulled the duvet off her. Now her eyes met his and, contrary to her misgivings, she opened her arms as he knelt on the bed and moved toward her. He touched her, gently at first, kissing every part of her body before tearing off his robe and pulling her tightly into his arms. This time his kiss was harder and deeper, and she responded, moaning softly, as he began to make love to her, hard and fast, pinning her arms behind her head until they climaxed simultaneously. He rolled onto his side, his breath coming in harsh gasps.
“Well, that’s made me feel better,” he said and reached to the bedside table to pour a glass of water. He gulped almost half, then offered the glass to her.
She shook her head and drew the duvet around her naked body.
“First, let me tell you that I love you, I always have,” he said, replacing the glass.
“I don’t know you!” She had tears in her eyes.
“No, I don’t think you do-well, not all of me.” He said it so matter-of-factly that she curled away from him. “But it’s too late now.”
“What have you done?” she said, afraid.
“So much, my darling, but like I said, it’s too late. It would take too long to explain.” He lifted his right arm. “Come here.”
“No.”
“Come here,” he said firmly and drew her into the curve of his body as if she were a child. “It’s safer if you know as little as possible. You already know too much, and I don’t know how you will be able to deal with knowing more.”
“I found what you had hidden in the toe of your boot,” she said and leaned up on her elbow. “What is it?” He looked into her frightened face and smiled, but he did not answer her. She turned away. “I watched the program tonight, about the robbery.”
“I know.”
“Please tell me it isn’t what I think it is.”
He said nothing, and she rummaged beneath her pillow, then withdrew the stone. “I could feel it, hard against my head, when you were fucking me,” she said, holding it tightly.