TheEvening Newscrew.
I offer drinks, show the latter where they could set up, then head off to help Heather with her duties as door bitch when my phone rings.
‘Give me two minutes,’ I tell her, making my way to the back of the bar where it’s a little quieter. ‘Hello?’
‘Miss Jennings?’ The voice on the other end of the line is one I don’t know. Male and, judging by the slightly reedy tone, quite elderly. ‘I’m calling about the ring you left with my colleague earlier today.’
‘Yes. The diamond solitaire. Is it ready to be picked up?’ Would it be bad to ask what it’s worth over the phone?
‘Yes.’ He draws the word out over several syllables with a hesitation that’s worrying.
‘Is there something wrong? You haven’t been robbed, have you?’ You hear about this sometimes—jewel heists or smash and grab robberies. The store didn’t seem to have a lot of security. Plus, the sales assistant said it might need to go to the branch in the city to be valued, because—
‘No, nothing like that. It’s just, well, I’m afraid this ring doesn’t possess a diamond.’
‘Have you lost it?’ I squeak.
‘No, the ring is in the same condition as when you left it.’
‘Then I’m not sure what you mean. There must be some kind of mistake.’ Maybe there were two customers named Jennings today?
‘This is the antique solitaire left under the name of Miranda Jennings, and this is the correct phone number left as the point of contact, yes?’
‘Yes, I suppose. It’s an antique ring, right? A family heirloom.’
‘The ring itself is around seventy years old, but I’m afraid it looks like whatever stone was in the mount was replaced with moissanite. Probably quite recently.’
The noise from the speed dating room suddenly makes it a little difficult to hear. I turn, holding my phone closer to the wall as I push my index finger into my other ear before asking him to repeat himself.
‘My dear, this ring isn’t a diamond. As I said, it’s moissanite.’
No. That can’t be. Is this some kind of scam? I take in a diamond, and they try to palm me off with lies, or worse, I get something different back?
‘I’m not sure what that is, or what it is you’re trying to tell me.’ Only, I think I probably do. What is it they say? Something about denial and rivers in Egypt.
‘We can offer you money for the weight of the gold, but—’
‘I’m not interested in what the gold is worth,’ I almost shriek. ‘What the bloody hell is moissanite?’
There’s a pause, which suddenly makes me worry that he’ll hang up, but before I can apologise for my tone, the old man speaks again.
‘Diamonds are found naturally, formed of the hardest material, and they possess such extraordinary beauty and worth. Moissanites are almost always manufactured in a lab, formed from silicon carbide. To the untrained eye, moissanites may look like diamonds, but they are not.’
‘You’re telling me the ring is worthless.’ My heart feels like it’s been dropped from a great height. I don’t know why I’m even asking when I know what the answer is. And I know why Cameron has been so desperate to get the fucking thing back.
‘Not worthless exactly. Just the price of gold, you understand.’
‘But there isn’t a market for used moissanites.’
‘No, not like there is for diamonds. I’m sorry,’ he adds kindly. ‘This has obviously come as a great shock to you.’
‘You might say that, but it probably shouldn’t.’ Not after what he did to me. ‘Thank you for your call. And your explanation. I-I’ll be in to pick it up tomorrow.’
‘Take care, my dear.’
My hands drop to my sides, and I find I have to press my back up against the wall because it feels like my knees are about to give out.
That bastard. That absolute fucking toad. But why am I surprised? He loved me so much he slept with my best friend, so of course he’s not going to think twice about giving me a dud ring. I meant nothing to him—I couldn’t have—because you don’t treat your enemies this way, never mind the people you profess to love.
