Diamonds are for Deception: The Carlotta Diamond / The Texan's Diamond Bride / From Dirt to Diamonds

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About the Author

LEE WILKINSON lives with her husband in a three-hundred-year-old stone cottage in a Derbyshire village, which most winters gets cut off by snow. They both enjoy travelling and recently, joining forces with their daughter and son-in-law, spent a year going round the world ‘on a shoestring’ while their son looked after Kelly, their much loved German Shepherd dog. Her hobbies are reading and gardening and holding impromptu barbecues for her long-suffering family and friends.

CHAPTER ONE

Farringdon Hall, Old Leasham

RUDY had just arrived at the door of the sickroom and raised his free hand to knock, when he heard his brother-in-law’s low, well-modulated voice, and paused to listen.

‘So what exactly is it you want me to do?’ Simon was asking.

‘I want you to try and trace Maria Bell-Farringdon, my sister,’ Sir Nigel’s voice answered.

Sounding startled, Simon said, ‘But surely your sister’s dead? Didn’t she die very young?’

‘That was Mara, Maria’s twin sister. They were born in 1929—I was three at the time—so Maria will be in her mid-seventies by now, if she’s still alive…’

His curiosity aroused, Rudy stayed where he was, his ear pressed to the door panel.

‘The last time I saw her was November 1946. Though she was barely seventeen at the time, she was pregnant and unmarried. Despite a great deal of parental pressure, she refused to name the father, and after a terrible row, during which she was accused of bringing disgrace on the family, she just walked out and vanished without a trace. Our parents washed their hands of her, and her name was never again mentioned. It was just as if she had never existed. But in March 1947 she wrote secretly to me, saying she’d given birth to a baby girl. The letter had a London postmark—she was living in Whitechapel—but no address. I raised as much money as I could—I was still at college then—and waited, hoping she would contact me again, but she didn’t, and that was the last time I heard from her. After my parents died I made a couple of attempts to find her, but without success. I should have kept trying, but somehow I let it slide. I suppose I thought I was immortal and had plenty of time… The doctor doesn’t agree, however. His verdict is that I’ve three months to live at the most, so it’s suddenly become urgent that I find either Maria or her offspring.’

‘Do you want to tell me why?’ Simon asked.

‘Of course, my boy,’ Sir Nigel assured his grandson. ‘It’s only right that you should know.

‘If you’d like to open my safe, you know the combination, and take out the leather jewel case that’s in there…’

There was a faint sound of movement, then Sir Nigel continued, ‘This is why. It’s come to be known as the Carlotta Stone. Some time in the early fifteen-hundreds it was given to Carlotta Bell-Farringdon by an Italian nobleman who was madly in love with her. For generations it’s been passed down to the eldest of the female line on her eighteenth birthday. Mara—who had a heart defect—died as a child, so the diamond should rightfully have gone to Maria, to be passed on to her daughter. Though a lot of years have gone by, it’s an injustice that I would like to put right before I die, so I just hope you can find her.’

‘I’ll certainly do my best, but at the moment my hands are full with the American merger, and I’m due in New York tomorrow. However, if you’d like me to concentrate on finding Maria, I’ll send someone else over to the States in my place,’ Simon offered.

‘No, no… You’re needed there. The negotiations are very delicate and I don’t want to see them fall down at this stage.’

‘In that case, so as not to waste any time, I’ll hire a private detective to start making enquiries immediately. Of course, it will have to be done with the greatest discretion,’ Simon said.

‘Quite right, my boy. In fact I’d like the whole thing kept under wraps. Not a word to a soul,’ Sir Nigel warned.

‘Not even Lucy?’

‘Not even Lucy. For one thing, I’d prefer it if Rudy didn’t get to know, and for another, I understand one of her friends is a so-called journalist. The last thing I want is for the story to get into the gossip columns. They always blow these things up out of all proportion, and I’d be extremely upset if there was any breath of scandal.’

It would serve the autocratic old devil right if there was, Rudy thought vindictively. He’d be only too happy to see Sir Nigel, his precious grandson, and the whole of the Bell-Farringdon family taken down a peg or two.

‘In any case it would pay to tread carefully,’ Simon said, ‘keep the reason for the search a secret until we’re certain we’ve got the right person.’

‘You’re quite right, of course. The Carlotta Stone is priceless, and I wouldn’t want to risk it going to some imposter with an eye to the main chance.’

There was a silence, then Simon said thoughtfully, ‘There’s not a lot to go on, and it’s quite possible, not to say probable, that Maria changed her name. However, modern technology should make it a great deal easier…’

‘Good morning, Mr Bradshaw.’ The nurse’s decisive voice made Rudy spin round and almost drop the books he was holding. ‘Just leaving?’

Recovering himself, he said, ‘No, as a matter of fact I was just about to knock.’

Made uncomfortable by that frosty blue gaze, he added, ‘I thought Sir Nigel might be asleep, and if he was, I didn’t want to disturb him.’

‘Mr Farringdon came up to see him right after breakfast. I believe he’s still there.’ With that she disappeared into the adjoining room.

Cursing his luck at being caught eavesdropping, Rudy tapped at the door of the sickroom.

‘Come in,’ Sir Nigel called.

Trying to give the impression he’d only just that second arrived, Rudy went in breezily.

Sir Nigel, who was sitting in bed propped up by pillows, looked anything but pleased to see him, while Simon gave him a sharp glance from tawny-green eyes, and a cool nod.

Biting back his chagrin with an effort, Rudy returned his brother-in-law’s nod.

With an uncomfortable feeling of coming in a poor second, he always felt threatened by Simon’s undoubted good looks and masculinity, his air of power and authority.

Turning to the man in bed, he asked as genially as possible, ‘How are you today, Sir Nigel?’

‘As well as can be expected, thank you.’

The old devil was only just civil, Rudy thought petulantly. In spite of the fact that he had been married to Sir Nigel’s granddaughter for almost three years, he was still shown none of the cordiality the baronet reserved for the other members of his family.

Nursing his grievance, Rudy went on, ‘Lucy wanted to return these books you lent her, so she asked me to call in on my way up to town.’

‘How is the dear girl?’

‘Her progress is good since she’s been home.’

Clearly making an effort, Sir Nigel asked, ‘Won’t you sit down?’

Never comfortable at the Hall, Rudy said, ‘Thanks, but I must get on my way. As Simon will tell you, we’re up to the neck in it at the bank. Apart from the normal grind there are evening meetings scheduled for the next few weeks. Then I have to face the journey home. It’s at times like this I wish I’d never given up my flat.’

It was an old and familiar complaint.

Too many nights spent in town had made Lucy suspect him of having another affair, and she had put pressure on him to give up his rented flat.

Proving he had a human side, Simon said, ‘I have to fly to New York tomorrow, so if you need to stay in town any night during the next two or three weeks you can have the use of my flat while I’m away.’

‘That would help enormously.’

‘I’ll let you have the keys before I go.’

‘Thanks. Well, I must be off,’ Rudy said.

‘Give Lucy my love,’ Sir Nigel said.

‘I will.’

His head full of what he’d overheard, Rudy closed the door behind him and hurried down the stairs.

Here he was, having to work for a living, he thought resentfully, while that old devil was talking about giving away a priceless diamond. Probably, if Maria was already dead, to someone he had never even met.

It just wasn’t fair.

While he drove up to London, Rudy mulled it over. There must be some way he could turn the situation to his advantage…

Suppose he could trace Maria and her descendents before Simon got back from the States? That would give him a head start, and provide some interesting, and hopefully lucrative, options…

Failing that, he could kill the proverbial two birds with one stone—make some capital out of it and get a bit of his own back, by selling the story to the Press.

Oomphed up a little, it should be worth quite a few thousand. ‘Aristocratic family…’ ‘Veil of secrecy…’ ‘Priceless diamond…’ He could almost see the headlines now. ‘Dying baronet seeking pregnant heiress who vanished from the ancestral home in 1946…’

Simon, who had glanced at him so sharply, might well suspect the source, but so long as neither he nor Sir Nigel could prove anything…

Rudy grinned to himself in anticipation.

But though he would like nothing better than to see the pair of them squirm, instinct told him the first option might be the better one, so he’d try that to start with.

Either way, what he had so fortuitously overheard would give him a chance to thumb his nose at the Bell-Farringdon family, none of whom had thought him good enough to marry Lucy…

Wall Street, New York

Some ten days later, Simon Farringdon received a report from his private detective which read:

I was able to establish that shortly after she disappeared from home, Maria Bell-Farringdon changed her name to Mary Bell.

Having checked the available records, I discovered that in March 1947, in the district of Whitechapel, a Mary Bell had registered the birth of a daughter, Emily Charlotte, father unknown.

The address had been given as 42 Bold Lane.

I kept searching, and discovered that in 1951 the same Mary Bell had married a man named Paul Yancey, who later adopted her daughter.

Emily Yancey married a man named Bolton in 1967; however, the marriage ended in divorce some ten years later. In 1980 Emily had a daughter whose birth was registered as father unknown. Emily died some six months later. The baby, named Charlotte, was adopted by a Mr and Mrs Christie…

Bayswater, London.

‘How do I look?’ Unusually for her, Charlotte was nervous. The lilac chiffon dress, bought in a hurry during her half-hour lunch break, had looked reasonably sedate in the store. Now at its highest point the asymmetrically cut skirt seemed higher than she recalled, and the plunging neckline a lot lower.

Surveying the lovely, heart-shaped face framed in a cloud of silky dark hair, and the luminous grey eyes, her flatmate answered, ‘So beautiful it’s sickening.’

‘No, seriously.’

‘I’m being serious. I’d kill for cheekbones like yours and naturally curly hair, not to mention your ears. I always think nice ears are so sexy.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with your ears,’ Charlotte said crisply.

‘There’s nothing right with them. They’re seriously big, and the lobes are so long I look like a spaniel. Whereas your ears are small and neat, and you’ve hardly any lobes to speak of.’

‘Which is a nuisance. It makes it awkward to wear earrings. But to get back to the point. I meant the dress; will it do?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Do? I can only hope the poor devil hasn’t got a weak heart…’

The two girls had been flatmates since Charlotte had answered the door one evening, almost two years ago, to find a tall, rangy girl with spiky blonde hair and a thin, intelligent face standing there.

‘I’ve just been next door visiting Macy,’ the newcomer had announced. ‘She mentioned that you had a two-bedroomed flat and were thinking of getting someone to share.’

‘I’ve certainly been considering it,’ Charlotte had admitted cautiously. Then, liking the look of the girl, ‘Come on in… As you can see, the living-room isn’t very big,’ she went on, as the girl followed her into the pleasant room with its old bow-window. ‘But the bedrooms aren’t bad, there’s a reasonable bathroom, and a good-sized kitchen.’ She opened the various doors as she spoke.

‘As far as I’m concerned it’s next door to heaven after the crummy bedsit I’ve been living in for the past six months.’

Then, her blue eyes curious, the girl asked, ‘Why do you want to share? In your place I’d prefer to be on my own.’

‘I would prefer it,’ Charlotte admitted honestly. ‘But I don’t have much choice.’

‘I understand from Macy—by the way, we work for the same travel company—that you own the bookshop on the ground floor?’

‘All I have is a lease on the premises, and, until sales pick up, finding the rent is proving to be a problem. I need some help,’ Charlotte said.

‘How much help?’

After a moment’s thought, Charlotte named what she considered a reasonable sum.

‘Well, if you think we could get along, your problem is solved. I’ll pay my share of the rent up front, I promise I won’t hog the bathroom or the kitchen—I’m not into cooking—and I’ll keep myself to myself as much as possible.’

Coming to a swift decision, Charlotte said, ‘That sounds fine by me.’

‘Great! By the way, my name’s Sojourner Macfadyen. But don’t call me Sojourner, or I’m afraid I’ll have to murder you.’

Smiling, Charlotte asked, ‘What shall I call you?’

‘Sojo will do fine.’

‘When do you want to move in, Sojo?’

‘The day after tomorrow?’

At Charlotte’s nod, she had added, ‘I think it’ll work, but in case it doesn’t…?’

‘Shall we say a month’s notice on either side?’ Charlotte had suggested.

It had worked well, however, and the two girls had become firm friends. Even when the shop began to make a small profit and Charlotte could afford to pay an assistant, Sojo had stayed on.

On more than one occasion, she had remarked, ‘When you’re ready for me to move out, just say the word.’

But, knowing she would miss the other girl’s company and lively sense of humour, Charlotte had been only too happy with the way things were…

‘Who is your date, by the way?’ Sojo pursued. Then, her voice sinking to a sibilant whisper, ‘Is it still the mystery man?’

Endeavouring to look the picture of innocence, Charlotte said, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I mean the one you’ve been so cagey about.’

‘I’ve been nothing of the kind,’ Charlotte denied.

‘Oh, give me strength! For days now you’ve had stars in your eyes, and I’ll swear your feet have scarcely touched the ground, but you’ve never breathed a word about him… I presume it is a him?’

‘Of course it’s a him!’ Charlotte said indignantly.

‘Well, come on, spill the beans. Tell all.’

‘There’s not much to tell.’

‘Rubbish! You have the look of a woman who’s on the brink of falling in love. I want to know whether to hold you back, or give you a push.’

‘Do you need to do either?’

‘Of course. What are friends for? So what’s his name? Paul? David? Jeremy?’

Throwing in the towel, Charlotte said, ‘Rudolf.’

Sojo gave a croak of laughter. ‘Bit of a soppy name, Rudolf—’ she pronounced it Wudolf ‘—unless you’re a reindeer.’

‘His friends call him Rudy.’

‘Well, they would, wouldn’t they? Anything’s preferable to Wudolf. What’s he like?’

‘Rather special. He’s—’

‘You’re blushing!’ Sojo exclaimed. ‘Dear me, you have got it bad.’

‘Do you want to know or not?’ Charlotte asked with a show of exasperation.

‘I’m all ears… What an unfortunate phrase! But do go on.’

‘He’s slimly built and just about the same height as I am—’

‘I wondered why you’d taken to wearing flat shoes. Fair or dark?’

‘He has curly black hair and brown eyes.’

‘Handsome?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sexy?’

‘Very.’

‘Rich?’

‘He dresses well, and has what he describes as a ‘‘bachelor pad’’ in Mayfair.’

‘Definitely not poor, then. Been to his pad?’

‘No.’

‘I take it he’s asked you? Yes, I can see he has. What does he do?’

‘I discovered, quite by accident, that he’s with one of the leading merchant banks.’

Sojo whistled through her teeth. ‘He’s not one of their top men, by any chance?’

‘I don’t think so. But to say he’s only twenty-six, he seems to be fairly high up the ladder.’

‘So what’s his surname?’

‘Bradshaw. He’s only been in England for about three years. He comes from the States.’

‘How did you meet him?’

‘He wandered into the shop one morning, a few weeks ago, just to browse. We got talking, and then he asked me out.’

‘A quick worker. Been to bed with him yet?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘Want to?’ Sojo asked knowingly.

‘Yes,’ Charlotte admitted.

‘So why haven’t you? Don’t tell me he hasn’t tried to persuade you.’

‘I won’t.’

Feeling her cheeks grow warm again, Charlotte gave the other girl a forbidding enough look to prevent her commenting.

‘Well, if you both fancy each other like mad, why are you holding back?’

‘It’s too soon. Even if I am attracted to him, I can’t jump into bed with a man I scarcely know.’

Sojo sighed. ‘You’re so beautifully old-fashioned. I’m not sure you live in the real world. If you’re not careful you’ll end up a desiccated virgin.’

‘But we’ve only been out four or five times.’

‘Is that all? I’m surprised he doesn’t want to see more of you.’

‘He does,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘But he isn’t free as often as he’d like to be. In his line of work it seems social contacts are very important, and a lot of his evenings are taken up by business commitments—dining out with clients and suchlike. It was touch and go whether he could get tonight off.’

‘Where are you off to? It must be somewhere special as you bought a new dress. Unless that’s just for Wudolf’s benefit?’

Ignoring that last crack, Charlotte said, ‘He’s escorting me to a supper party at St John’s Wood, given by Anthony Drayton.’

‘The literary agent?’

‘Yes. He hosts one every year. Half of London gets invited—anybody who is anybody. His parties always have a different theme. Last year it was timed to coincide with a new moon, and all the ladies were asked to wear something silver.’

‘What is it this time?’

‘Candlelight.’

‘Let’s hope the fire brigade’s been alerted,’ Sojo said wryly.

‘You’re going out, I suppose?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Nope. I’ll be all on my little lonesome.’

‘Then why not come along with us? I’m sure Anthony won’t mind.’

‘It’s not Anthony I’m worried about.’

‘Rudy won’t either.’

‘That’s a whopping great lie, and even if it wasn’t, playing gooseberry is not my favourite role.’

‘I’m surprised you’re not going out with Mark. He seemed keen enough.’

‘If anything, too keen. A regular Mr Touchy-Feely. I got so fed up with peeling his hands off, I showed him the door.’

Watching Charlotte collect a squashy evening bag and a silver fun-fur, she queried, ‘Going by taxi?’

‘No, Rudy’s offered to pick me up. He should be here any minute.’

Stationing herself in the bow-window, where she could see the street in both directions, Sojo suggested casually, ‘Why don’t you ask him up for a nightcap when he brings you home?’

‘Yes, I might. It’s about time you and Rudy met.’

‘So it’s getting serious!’

‘I’m not sure,’ Charlotte admitted.

‘In that case I’ll give him the once-over before I make myself scarce, not forgetting to mention that I’m a heavy sleeper.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ Charlotte exclaimed.

‘Only joking, honestly. Hello! This looks like him now… Or at least a posh-looking car has just drawn up outside. A man with dark curly hair is getting out! He’s gazing up at the window!’ She heaved a rapturous sigh. ‘Oh, Romeo, Romeo…’

Gathering up her coat and bag, Charlotte fled.

The September evening was cool and grey and slightly foggy. Street lamps cast an amber glow onto the damp pavements, and, surrounded by a halo of mist, shone like luminous ghosts.

Rudy was waiting for her on the pavement. Taking her hand, he drew her close and kissed her with a barely restrained passion.

After a moment, well aware that Sojo was almost certainly watching, Charlotte drew away.

Damn it, Rudy thought as he jumped into the car and started the engine. He was practically desperate. He needed to make some headway before Simon returned, and time was getting short.

But with a certain cool reserve, Charlotte was unlike any other girl he’d ever met, and so far, afraid of scaring her off, he’d forced himself to be relatively patient.

Now, however, restless and frustrated, he found the strain was beginning to tell, and he frowned as he joined the sluggish stream of evening traffic, and headed north for St John’s Wood.

His experience had told him that she was on the verge of falling in love with him, and it was time to make his move. With the Mayfair flat still at his disposal he had entertained high hopes that tonight they might become lovers.

It would make a difficult situation a great deal easier and immeasurably increase his chances of keeping her—so long as he could come up with the right kind of story to gain her sympathy.

She was, he felt certain, the kind of woman who would stick by him once she had committed herself.

And he badly wanted her to.

This wasn’t just the start of another affair, nor was it because she would shortly be rich, though that was a definite bonus. For the first time in his life he was mad about a woman, unable to concentrate on anything, hardly able to eat or sleep for thinking about her, and her cool reception of his kiss had shaken him badly.

Still, there was the whole evening ahead. Unless he’d lost his touch he’d be able to get her in the right mood before it ended. With a mouth like hers, and that underlying hint of sensuousness, she couldn’t really be cold…

As they drew into the drive of their host’s big house, Rudy’s heart sank to see the parking apron was crowded with prestigious cars.

It sank even further when the handsome front door was opened by a liveried manservant, and it became abundantly clear that the party, which was well under way, was a glittering affair.

Beyond the chandelier-hung hall, a large candlelit room was packed with people, and well-dressed celebrities appeared to be ten-a-penny.

When Charlotte had first, hesitantly, mentioned the party, it had sounded innocuous enough. Expecting the whole thing to be obscure, quiet, dull and literary, he had promised to do his best to be free. But this affair was much bigger and a great deal less private than he’d bargained for.

He’d made a bad mistake in coming here, and the sooner he could get away, the better. If anyone recognised him and told Simon…

As their coats were whisked away, their handsome, silver-haired host appeared to greet them—Rudy with civility, Charlotte with enthusiasm.