'Would you care for some coffee, sir?' Crombie enquired helpfully.

'No, thank you,' said Jeremy, who had no desire to hold up proceedings any longer than necessary, for fear he might lose his nerve.

'And how may I help you today, sir?' Crombie asked, as if Jeremy were a regular customer.

'I've just become engaged . . .'

'Many congratulations, sir.'

'Thank you,' said Jeremy, beginning to feel a little more relaxed. 'I'm looking for a ring, something a bit special,' he added, still sticking to the script.

'You've certainly come to the right place, sir,' said Crombie, and pressed a b.u.t.ton under the table.

The door opened immediately, and a man in an identical dark suit, white shirt and dark tie entered the room.

'The gentleman would like to see some engagement rings, Partridge.'

'Yes, of course, Mr Crombie,' replied the porter, and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

'Good weather for this time of year,' said Crombie as he waited for the porter to reappear.

'Not bad,' said Jeremy.

'No doubt you'll be going to Wimbledon, sir.'

'Yes, we've got tickets for the women's semifinals,' said Jeremy, feeling rather pleased with himself, remembering that he'd strayed off script.

A moment later, the door opened and the porter reappeared carrying a large oak box which he placed dutifully in the centre of the table, before leaving without uttering a word.

Crombie waited until the door had closed before selecting a small key from a chain that hung from the waistband of his trousers, unlocking the box and opening the lid slowly to reveal three rows of a.s.sorted gems that took Jeremy's breath away. Definitely not the sort of thing he was used to seeing in the window of his local H. Samuel.

It was a few moments before he fully recovered, and then he remembered Arabella telling him he would be presented with a wide choice of stones so the salesman could estimate his price range without having to ask him directly.

Jeremy studied the box's contents intently, and after some thought selected a ring from the bottom row with three perfectly cut small emeralds set proud on a gold band.

'Quite beautiful,' said Jeremy as he studied the stones more carefully. 'What is the price of this ring?'

'One hundred and twenty-four thousand pounds, sir,' said Crombie, as if the amount was not worthy of note.

Jeremy placed the ring back in the box, and turned his attention to the row above. This time he selected a ring with a circle of sapphires on a white-gold band. He removed it from the box and pretended to study it more closely before asking the price.

'Two hundred and sixty-nine thousand pounds,' replied the same honeyed voice, accompanied by a smile that suggested the customer was heading in the right direction.

Jeremy replaced the ring and turned his attention to a large single diamond that lodged alone in the top row, leaving no doubt of its superiority. He removed it and, as with the others, studied it closely. 'And this magnificent stone,' he said, raising an eyebrow. 'Can you tell me a little about its origin?'

'I can indeed, sir,' said Crombie. 'It's a flawless, eighteen-point-four carat cushion-cut yellow diamond that was recently extracted from our mine in Rhodes. It has been certified by the Gemmological Inst.i.tute of America as a Fancy Intense Yellow, and was cut from the original stone by one of our master craftsmen in Amsterdam. The stone has been set on a platinum band. I can a.s.sure sir that it is quite unique, and therefore worthy of a unique lady.'

Jeremy had a feeling that Mr Crombie might just have delivered that line before. 'No doubt there's a quite unique price to go with it.' He handed the ring to Crombie, who placed it back in the box.

'Eight hundred and fifty-four thousand pounds,' he said in a hushed voice.

'Do you have a loupe?' asked Jeremy. 'I'd like to study the stone more closely.' Arabella had taught him the word diamond merchants use when referring to a small magnifying gla.s.s, telling him that it would make him sound as if he regularly went to such places.

'Yes, of course, sir,' said Crombie, pulling open a drawer on his side of the table and extracting a small tortoisesh.e.l.l loupe. When he looked back up, there was no sign of the Kandice Diamond, just a gaping s.p.a.ce in the top row of the box.

'Do you still have the ring?' he asked, trying not to sound concerned.

'No,' said Jeremy. 'I handed it back to you a moment ago.'

Without another word, the a.s.sistant snapped the box closed and pressed the b.u.t.ton below his side of the table. This time he did not indulge in any small talk while he waited. A moment later, two burly, flat-nosed men who looked as if they'd be more at home in a boxing ring than De Beers entered the room. One stayed by the door while the other stood a few inches behind Jeremy.

'Perhaps you'd be kind enough to return the ring?' said Crombie in a firm, flat, composed voice.

'I have never been so insulted,' said Jeremy, trying to sound insulted.

'I'm going to say this only once, sir. If you return the ring, we will not press charges, but if you do not-'

'And I'm going to say this only once,' said Jeremy, rising from his seat. 'The last time I saw the ring was when I handed it back to you.'

Jeremy turned to leave, but the man behind him placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed him back down into the chair. Arabella had promised him there would be no rough stuff as long as he did exactly what they told him. Jeremy remained seated, not moving a muscle. Crombie rose from his place and said, 'Please follow me.'

One of the heavyweights opened the door and led Jeremy out of the room, while the other remained a pace behind him. At the end of the corridor they stopped outside a door marked 'Private'. The first guard opened the door and they entered another room which once again contained only one table, but this time it wasn't covered in a velvet cloth. Behind it sat a man who looked as if he'd been waiting for them. He didn't invite Jeremy to sit, as there wasn't another chair in the room.

'My name is Granger,' the man said without expression. 'I've been the head of security at De Beers for the past fourteen years, and I used to be a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police. I can tell you there's nothing I haven't seen, and no story I haven't heard before. So do not imagine even for one moment that you're going to get away with this, young man.'

How quickly the fawning sir had been replaced by the demeaning young man, thought Jeremy.

Granger paused to allow the full weight of his words to sink in. 'First, I must ask if you are willing to help me with my inquiries, or whether you would prefer us to call in the police, in which case you will be able to have a solicitor present.'

'I have nothing to hide,' said Jeremy haughtily, 'so naturally I'm happy to help.' Back on script.

'In that case,' said Granger, 'perhaps you'd be kind enough to take off your shoes, jacket and trousers.'

Jeremy kicked off his loafers, which Granger picked up and placed on the table. He then removed his jacket and handed it to Granger as if he was his valet. After taking off his trousers he stood there, trying to look appalled at the treatment he was being subjected to.

Granger spent some considerable time pulling out every pocket of Jeremy's suit, then checking the lining and the seams. He failed to come up with anything other than a handkerchief. There was no wallet, no credit card, nothing that could identify the suspect, which made him even more suspicious. Granger placed the suit back on the table. 'Your tie?' he said, still sounding calm.

Jeremy undid the knot, pulled off the old Etonian tie and put it on the table. Granger ran the palm of his right hand across the blue stripes, but again, nothing. 'Your shirt.' Jeremy undid the b.u.t.tons slowly, then handed his shirt over. He stood there shivering in just his pants and socks.

Granger checked the shirt, and for the first time the hint of a smile appeared on his lined face as he touched the collar. He pulled out two silver Tiffany collar stiffeners. Nice touch, Arabella, thought Jeremy as Granger placed them on the table, unable to mask how annoyed he was. He handed the shirt back to Jeremy, who replaced the collar stiffeners before putting his shirt and tie back on.

'Your underpants, please.'

Jeremy pulled down his pants and pa.s.sed them across. Another check which he knew would reveal nothing. Granger handed them back and waited for him to pull them up before saying, 'And finally your socks.'

Jeremy pulled off his socks and laid them out on the table. Granger was now looking a little less sure of himself, but he still checked them carefully before turning his attention to Jeremy's loafers. He spent some time tapping, pushing and even trying to pull them apart. But there was nothing to be found.

To Jeremy's surprise, he once again asked him to remove his shirt and tie. When he had done so, Granger came around from behind the table and stood directly in front of him. He raised both his hands, and for a moment Jeremy thought the man was going to hit him. Instead, he pressed his fingers into Jeremy's scalp and ruffled his hair the way his father used to do when he was a child, but all he ended up with was greasy nails and a few stray hairs for his trouble.

'Raise your arms,' he barked. Jeremy held his arms high in the air, but Granger found nothing under his armpits. He then stood behind Jeremy. 'Raise one leg,' he ordered. Jeremy raised his right leg. There was nothing stuck under the heel, and nothing between the toes. 'The other leg,' said Granger but he ended up with the same result. He walked round to face him once again. 'Open your mouth.' Jeremy opened wide as if he was in the dentist's chair. Granger shone a pen-torch around his cavities, but didn't find so much as a gold tooth. He could not hide his worry as he asked Jeremy to accompany him to the room next door.

'May I put my clothes back on?'

'No, you may not,' came back the reply immediately.

Jeremy followed him into the next room, feeling worried about what torture they had in store for him. A man in a long white coat stood waiting next to what looked like a sun bed. 'Would you be kind enough to lie down so that I can take an X-ray?' he asked.

'Happily,' said Jeremy, and climbed on to the machine. Moments later there was a click and the two men studied the results on a screen. Jeremy knew it would reveal nothing.

Swallowing the Kandice Diamond had never been part of their plan.

'Thank you,' said the man in the white coat politely, and Granger added reluctantly, 'You can get dressed now.' Once Jeremy had his Etonian tie back on, he followed Granger back into the questioning room, where Crombie and the two guards were waiting for them.

'I'd like to leave now,' Jeremy said firmly.

Granger nodded, clearly unwilling to let him go, but he no longer had any excuse to hold him. Jeremy turned to face Crombie, looked him straight in the eye and said, 'You'll be hearing from my lawyer.' He thought he saw him grimace. Arabella's script had been perfect.

The two flat-nosed guards marched him off the premises, looking disappointed that he hadn't tried to escape. As Jeremy stepped back out on to the crowded Piccadilly pavement, he took a deep breath and waited for his heartbeat to return to something like normal before crossing the road. He then strolled confidently back into The Ritz and took his seat opposite Arabella.

'Your coffee's gone cold, darling,' she said, as if he'd just been to the loo. 'Perhaps you should order another.'

'Same again,' said Jeremy when the waiter appeared by his side.

'Any problems?' whispered Arabella once the waiter was out of earshot.

'No,' said Jeremy, suddenly feeling guilty, but at the same time excited. 'It all went to plan.'

'Good,' said Arabella. 'So now it's my turn.' She rose from her seat and said, 'Better give me the watch and the cufflinks. I'll need to put them back in Daddy's room before we meet up this evening.'

Jeremy reluctantly unstrapped the watch, took out the cufflinks and handed them to Arabella. 'What about the tie?' he whispered.

'Better not take it off in The Ritz,' she said. She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. 'I'll come to your place around eight, and you can give it back to me then.' She gave him that smile one last time before walking out of the morning room.

A few moments later, Arabella was standing outside De Beers. The door was opened at once: the expensive necklace, the designer bag and the Chanel watch all suggested that this lady was not in the habit of being kept waiting.

'I want to look at some engagement rings,' she said shyly before stepping inside.

'Of course, madam,' said the doorman, and led her down the corridor.

During the next hour, Arabella carried out almost the same routine as Jeremy, and after much deliberate delay she told Mr Crombie, 'It's hopeless, quite hopeless. I'll have to bring Archie in. After all, he's the one who's going to foot the bill.'

'Of course, madam.'

'I'm joining him for lunch at Le Caprice,' she added, 'so we'll pop back this afternoon.'

'We'll look forward to seeing you both then,' said the sales a.s.sociate as he closed the jewel box.

'Thank you, Mr Crombie,' said Arabella as she rose to leave. Arabella was escorted to the front door by the sales a.s.sociate without any suggestion that she should take her clothes off. Once she was back on Piccadilly, she hailed a taxi and gave the driver an address in Lowndes Square. She checked her watch, sure that she would be back at the flat long before her father, who would never find out that his watch and cufflinks had been borrowed for a few hours, and who certainly wouldn't miss one of his old school ties.

As she sat in the back of the taxi, Arabella admired the perfect yellow diamond. Jeremy had carried out her instructions to the letter. She would of course have to explain to her friends why she'd broken off the engagement. Frankly, he just wasn't one of our set, never really fitted in.

But she had to admit she would quite miss him. She'd grown rather fond of Jeremy, and he was very keen between the sheets. And to think that all he'd get out of it was a pair of silver collar stiffeners and an old Etonian tie. Arabella hoped he still had enough money to cover the bill at The Ritz.

She dismissed Jeremy from her thoughts and turned her attention to the man she'd chosen to join her at Wimbledon. She had already lined him up to help her get a matching pair of earrings.

When Mr Crombie left De Beers that night, he was still trying to work out how the man had managed it. After all, he'd had no more than a few seconds while his head was bowed.

'Goodnight, Doris,' he said as he pa.s.sed a cleaner who was vacuuming in the corridor.

'Goodnight, sir,' said Doris, opening the door to the viewing room so she could continue to vacuum. This was where the customers selected the finest gems on earth, Mr Crombie had once told her, so it had to be spotless. She turned off the machine, removed the black velvet cloth from the table and began to polish the surface; first the top, then the rim. That's when she felt it.

Doris bent down to take a closer look. She stared in disbelief at the large piece of chewing gum stuck under the rim of the table. She began to sc.r.a.pe it off, not stopping until there wasn't the slightest trace of it left. Doris then dropped it into the rubbish bag in her cleaning cart before placing the velvet cloth back on the table.

'Such a disgusting habit,' she muttered as she closed the viewing-room door and continued to vacuum the carpet in the corridor.

Don't Drink the Water.

(from Cat O' Nine Tales).

'If you want to murder someone,' said Karl, 'don't do it in England.'

'Why not?' I asked innocently.

'The odds are against you getting away with it,' my fellow inmate warned me, as we walked round the exercise yard. 'You've got a much better chance in Russia.'

'I'll try to remember that,' I replied.

'Mind you,' added Karl, 'I knew a countryman of yours who did get away with murder, but at some cost.'

It was a.s.sociation, that welcome 45-minute break when you are released from your prison cell. You can either spend your time on the ground floor (which is about the size of a basketball court), sitting around chatting, playing table tennis or watching television, or you can go out into the fresh air and stroll around the edge of the yard (which is about the size of a football pitch). There was a twenty-foot-high concrete wall topped with razor wire, and only the sky to look up at but this was, for me, the highlight of the day.

While I was confined in Belmarsh, a category A high-security prison in south-east London, I was locked in my cell for twenty-three hours a day (think about it). You are let out only to go to the canteen to pick up your lunch (five minutes), which you then eat in your cell. Five hours later you collect your supper (five more minutes). At that point they also hand you tomorrow's breakfast in a plastic bag, so that they don't have to let you out again before lunch the following day. The only other taste of freedom is a.s.sociation, and even that can be cancelled if the prison is short-staffed (which happens about twice a week).

I always used the 45-minute escape to power-walk, for two reasons. One, I needed the exercise because on the outside I attend a local gym five days a week, and, two, not many prisoners bothered to try and keep up with me. Except Karl.

Karl was a Russian by birth who hailed from that beautiful city of St Petersburg. He was a contract killer who had just begun a 22-year sentence for disposing of a fellow countryman who was proving tiresome to one of the Mafia gangs back home. He cut his victims up into small pieces, and put what was left of them into a furnace. His fee if you wanted someone disposed of was five thousand pounds.

Karl was a bear of a man, six foot two and built like a weightlifter. He was covered in tattoos and never stopped talking. On balance, I didn't consider it wise to interrupt his flow. Like so many prisoners, Karl didn't talk about his own crime, and the golden rule (should you ever end up inside) is never ask what a prisoner is in for, unless they raise the subject. However, Karl did tell me a tale about an Englishman he'd come across in St Petersburg. He claimed to have seen what happened in the days when he'd been a driver for a government minister.