Diamond Dust

I can say. But you were always open about everything. You would have told me, wouldn't you?'

He filled the silence with a sigh.

There was something else she hadn't told him. She hadn't mentioned a word about T' - whoever that was. There were three references in the diary to this 'T'. Two phone calls, and the meeting in the park, all in the two weeks prior to her death. And she'd had her hair done specially. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff was so unlike Steph. Maybe she didn't think it was important enough to mention. Was that a reasonable assumption? If'T' was a woman friend, for instance, someone Steph knew well, and not a man, as the demons in his head kept whispering, might she have made these diary entries without saying a word about it?

Unlikely. She always told him things.

At best, she had acted out of character. At worst, there was a secret liaison with someone who turned out to be a killer.

And now, instead of talking to Steph, he turned on himself. 'You're a flake, Diamond. You're starting to mistrust her. While she was alive, she never gave you a moment's uncertainty. She was loyal right to the end. How can you think this way?'

15

This was a sharp suit, a two-piece by Zegna, in a pale grey woollen cloth with a faint blue thread. Harry Tattersall bought it for nine hundred pounds, off the peg at Selfridges. With his slim build the only tailoring he ever needed was to the leg length. The silver-tongued West Indian salesman told him he looked as smooth as a dolphin, which was meant as a compliment. Harry would have preferred to look like a lord - the object of this exercise - but he guessed he would also need a good white shirt and an old boy's tie to get the aristocratic effect.

The Arab way of doing things appealed to Harry. Who else paid cash upfront to kit out their team? These fellows had style. And the good thing was that his part in the scam would be over before the punch-up began. He'd be out of the Dorchester and hightailing it to a safe distance. Even if the others were all nicked, he'd still be sitting pretty in his dolphin-smooth Zegna suit with six hundred in the back pocket.

Rhadi called him at the weekend and asked if he was ready.

'Is this the lift-off, old chum?'

'No, no,' Rhadi said. 'I'm just checking that you'll be prepared when the time comes.'

'At concert pitch. I've bought the suit.'

'You had enough dosh to cover it?'

'Enough for a shirt and shoes as well.'

'And the disguise?'

'All under control.'

'Don't go downmarket for the hair colouring, will you?' Rhadi cautioned. 'Nothing looks worse than badly dyed hair.'

'A cheap wig.'

'You're wearing a wig for this?'

'No. You said nothing looks worse. I'm telling you a cheap wig does. Don't fret. I'll look the part.'

'Have you picked a name yet?'

'How does Lord Muck strike you?'

'For the love of Allah take this seriously, Harry. I told Zahir you're totally dependable. If you mess up, if he even thinks you might mess up, we're both dead meat.'

'He's as dangerous as that?'

'He's all right if you do the job. Now what are you calling yourself?'

'Sir John Mason. There are several in Who's Who. A computer-hacking friend of mine has found me the credit card details of one of them, and I've had my own card made by someone in the business. Satisfied?'

'It will do, I guess.' Rhadi cleared his throat nervously. 'Now, these are your instructions. Listen carefully. When the time is right - and we don't know when that will be - you'll get a call from someone who won't give his name.'

'This ex-RAF type?'

'He'll simply tell you that the goods you ordered are coming in on . . . and he'll name a date.'

'The payday?'

'Yes. Thank him and put the phone down. Don't say any more. Then it will be all systems go. First, you pass on the info to me.'

'This will be the date the Prince has booked at the hotel?'

'Right. Then you go to a payphone at some suitable place - let's say the Festival Hall - and call the Dorchester as - who was it?'

'Sir John Mason.'

'. . . and reserve one of the roof garden suites. Say you want it for a week.'

'A week from when?'