She was checking herself once again in the full-length mirror when Victor entered the room. He stopped on the spot, dropping his briefcase on the carpet. Consuela turned to face him.
“You look stunning,” he declared, with the same look of desire she had lavished on the Kanemarra heirloom a few hours before.
“Thank you, darling,” she replied. “And how did your day go?”
“A triumph. The takeover has been agreed, and at half the price it would have cost me only a year ago.”
Consuela smiled. An unexpected bonus.
“Those of us who are still in possession of cash need have no fear of the recession,” Victor added with satisfaction.
Over a quiet supper in the Ritz’s dining room, Victor described to his wife in great detail what had taken place at the bank that day. During the occasional break in this monologue Consuela indulged her husband by remarking “How clever of you, Victor,” “How amazing,” “How you managed it I will never understand.” When he finally ordered a large brandy, lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair, she began to run her elegantly stockinged right foot gently along the inside of his thigh. For the first time that evening, Victor stopped thinking about the takeover.
As they left the dining room and strolled towards the lift, Victor placed an arm around his wife’s slim waist. By the time the lift had reached the sixth floor he had already taken off his jacket, and his hand had slipped a few inches further down. Consuela giggled. Long before they had reached the door of their suite he had begun tugging off his tie.
When they entered the room, Consuela placed the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the outside doorknob. For the next few minutes Victor was transfixed to the spot as he watched his slim wife slowly remove each garment she had purchased that afternoon. He quickly pulled off his own clothes, and wished once again that he had carried out his New Year’s resolution.
Forty minutes later, Victor lay exhausted on the bed. After a few moments of sighing, he began to snore. Consuela pulled the sheet over their naked bodies, but her eyes remained wide open. She was already going over the next step in her plan.
Victor awoke the following morning to discover his wife’s hand gently stroking the inside of his leg. He rolled over to face her, the memory of the previous night still vivid in his mind. They made love a second time, something they had not done for as long as he could recall.
It was not until he stepped out of the shower that Victor remembered it was his wife’s birthday, and that he had promised to spend the morning with her selecting a gift. He only hoped that her eye had already settled on something she wanted, as he needed to spend most of the day closeted in the City with his lawyers, going over the offer document line by line.
“Happy birthday, darling,” he said as he padded back into the bedroom. “By the way, did you have any luck finding a present?” he added as he scanned the front page of the
The City Editor was already speculating on the possible takeover, describing it as a coup. A smile of satisfaction appeared on Victor’s face for the second time that morning.
“Yes, my darling,” Consuela replied. “I did come across one little bauble that I rather liked. I just hope it isn’t too expensive.”
“And how much is this ‘little bauble’?” Victor asked. Consuela turned to face him. She was wearing only two garments, both of them black, and both of them remarkably skimpy.
Victor started to wonder if he still had the time, but then he remembered the lawyers, who had been up all night and would be waiting patiently for him at the bank.
“I didn’t ask the price,” Consuela replied. “You’re so much cleverer than I am at that sort of thing,” she added, as she slipped into a navy silk blouse.
Victor glanced at his watch. “How far away is it?” he asked.
“Just across the road, in Bond Street, my darling,” Consuela replied. “I shouldn’t have to delay you for too long.” She knew exactly what was going through her husband’s mind.
“Good. Then let’s go and look at this little bauble without delay,” he said as he did up the buttons on his shirt.
While Victor finished dressing, Consuela, with the help of the
“Probably saved myself several million,” he told her yet again. Consuela smiled as she led him to the door of the House of Graff.
“Several million?” she gasped. “How clever you are, Victor.”
The security guard quickly opened the door, and this time Consuela found that Mr Graff was already standing by the table waiting for her. He bowed low, then turned to Victor. “May I offer my congratulations on your brilliant coup, Mr Rosenheim.” Victor smiled. “How may I help you?”
“My husband would like to see the Kanemarra heirloom,” said Consuela, before Victor had a chance to reply.
“Of course, madam,” said the proprietor. He stepped behind the table and spread out the black velvet cloth. Once again the assistant removed the magnificent necklace from its stand in the third window, and carefully laid it out on the centre of the velvet cloth to show the jewels to their best advantage. Mr Graff was about to embark on the piece’s history, when Victor simply said, “How much is it?”
Mr Graff raised his head. “This is no ordinary piece of jewellery. I feel …”
“How much?” repeated Victor.
“Its provenance alone warrants …”
“How much?”
“The sheer beauty, not to mention the craftsmanship involved …”
“How much?” asked Victor, his voice now rising.
“… the word unique would not be inappropriate.”
“You may be right, but I still need to know how much it’s going to cost me,” said Victor, who was beginning to sound exasperated.
“One million pounds, sir,” Graff said in an even tone, aware that he could not risk another superlative.
“I’ll settle at half a million, no more,” came back the immediate reply.
“I am sorry to say, sir,” said Graff, “that with this particular piece, there is no room for bargaining.”
“There’s always room for bargaining, whatever one is selling,” said Victor. “I repeat my offer. Half a million.”
“I fear that in this case, sir …”
“I feel confident that you’ll see things my way, given time,” said Victor. “But I don’t have that much time to spare this morning, so I’ll write out a cheque for half a million, and leave you to decide whether you wish to cash it or not.”
“I fear you are wasting your time, sir,” said Graff. “I cannot let the Kanemarra heirloom go for less than one million.”
Victor took out a chequebook from his inside pocket, unscrewed the top of his fountain pen, and wrote out the words “Five Hundred Thousand Pounds Only” below the name of the bank that bore his name. His wife took a discreet pace backwards.
Graff was about to repeat his previous comment, when he glanced up, and observed Mrs Rosenheim silently pleading with him to accept the cheque.
A look of curiosity came over his face as Consuela continued her urgent mime.
Victor tore out the cheque and left it on the table. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to decide,” he said. “We return to New York tomorrow morning — with or without the Kanemarra heirloom. It’s your decision.”
Graff left the cheque on the table as he accompanied Mr and Mrs Rosenheim to the front door and bowed them out onto Bond Street.
“You were brilliant, my darling,” said Consuela as the chauffeur opened the car door for his master.
“The bank,” Rosenheim instructed as he fell into the back seat.
“You’ll have your little bauble, Consuela. He’ll cash the cheque before the twenty-four hours are up, of that I’m sure.” The chauffeur closed the back door, and the window purred down as Victor added with a smile, “Happy birthday, darling.”
