Diamond Dust

Brown Owl married the Donkey Man the following spring, and it was a strong, loving relationship still, thanks in no small part to Steph's calmness under stress. There had been desperately bad moments, like her miscarriage (she'd suffered three already with her first husband) and the hysterectomy that had followed. There were the plunges in Diamond's rollercoaster career: the board of inquiry, the resignation, the move to the poky basement flat in London, being sacked from Harrods, and the spell of unemployment. Steph had kept them going by being positive and finding a funny side to every experience.

But rollercoasters have their upsides, and the police had needed him back. He returned to his old job as murder man in Bath CID. Since then, life had been kinder - their own house in Weston, a playful cat called Raffles, good neighbours and a Chinese takeaway at the end of the street.

Upstairs, he poured two glasses of Rioja before getting into bed. Steph had been to Spain twenty-five years ago as a student and always remembered the wine. She would cheerfully have migrated to Spain or France. No chance hitched to a man like Diamond, with GB plates welded to his soul.

'When did you get this?' she asked. The Diamonds didn't have wine in store. When they bought a bottle, it was for immediate consumption.

'On the way back from Bristol.'

'Nice surprise.'

'Mm.'

'There's the difference between you and me,' she said. 'I don't mind surprises.'

'You're saying I do?'

'You hate them. That's why you're such a good detective. You take out the surprise element by thinking ahead, every angle.'

'I wish it were true.'

'Of course it's true.'

'Yeah? How many times have I needed your help to second-guess a suspect? More than I can count.' He held up his glass.

'Is this to anything special? Another villain off the streets?'

'No, this is to my pretty, wise and understanding wife. Cheers, Steph.'

Accepting a compliment is one of the hardest things to handle. She could have made some flippant response, but she didn't. Coming from her Peter, the awkward little speech was as near as he got to a love poem. She felt for his hand and held it, and they sipped their wine.

'Speaking of surprises,' she said presently, 'certain of your old colleagues know you're reaching a landmark this year.'

'My fiftieth?' He stared at her in alarm. 'How the hell did they find out?'

'You had your picture in the papers last summer when there was all the hoo-ha about the body in the vault.'

'Oh, and the bloody press always give your age. 'Peter Diamond, forty- nine.' It doesn't take a genius to work out I'll be half a hundred this year.' His eyes read her face. 'They're not planning anything?'

'It was being whispered about. They asked me, and I did my best to cool it. I said you wouldn't appreciate a surprise party one bit.'

'Dead right. Who was this?'

'I'm not at liberty to say.'

'They've dropped the idea, I hope.'

'I think so, but we may need to think of something ourselves.'

'Like being away for the week?'

'Good thinking. I like it' Steph smiled. 'You're way ahead of me. What do you have in mind - a cruise?'

He vibrated his lips. 'I can't think of anything worse.'

'A surprise party is worse.'

'Christ, yes.'

'Oh, come on. They only thought of it because they're fond of you, in spite of the hard times you gave them. They want to show you some affection.'

'Who are these misguided people?'

'I promised not to say.'

'They should know I get all the affection I want from you.'

'Hint, hint?' She put aside her wineglass and turned to kiss him.

Still troubled by the thought of opening a door on a roomful of smiling faces, he curled his arm around her and returned the kiss in a perfunctory way. She wriggled closer and the second kiss was warmer and they got horizontal in the same movement.

'Well, now,' Steph said as he pressed against her. 'You're quite a surprise party yourself.'

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