Marrying Money: Lady Diana's Story (8 page)

CHAPTER NINE

T
he police came out in full force early the next morning; barely two hours after Mairead's husband took the telephone out of my trembling hands and took over the conversation with a sleepy-sounding desk sergeant.

A couple of detectives, both looking world-weary, perched on Mairead's baby-blue leather sofa and tried to look as if they were always alert at 6
:00
a.m
.

They did not arrive
so promptly because of my croaked message about a lost necklace. No, it had been Richard's firm,
man-of-the-world, I-make-political-party-contributions-and-a-little-something-to-the-police-ball
, request for an officer to come to their home right away, that did it, and the announcement that the victim of this possibly heinous crime was a titled lady from the UK.

“So
, the last place you saw this emerald necklace was around your friend, Miss Sally's neck?”

“Her
last name is Barnes and that is correct, Detective. Sally was wearing the necklace because it went well with her red hair and she'd chosen this lovely, emerald green, silk gown – from this little shop on Grafton Street, and she'd added the cutest…”

His eyes were glazing over. His sergeant's fingers slowly stopped moving over the page. Both men were going into
a
'women's chatter'
trance.

“I’m
sorry, I'm tired and very stressed and I tend to talk too much when that happens,” I said, trying to graciously prod their consciences. After all, I'm the injured party in all this.

“I
do understand, Miss…Lady Diana.”

“You’re
very good,” I said. Actually, the guy was gorgeous; lots of raven's wing black hair and melting brown eyes, like chocolate…
that reminds me, I'm starving. Where was Sally with the tea tray?

“So
what happened then?”

“Sally
won the Ladies’ Day prize at the races, a totally gorgeous diamond and red-gold necklace designed by that well-known designer…what's his name? Anyway, they insisted she wear it straightaway, and of course, she was pretty keen to, who wouldn’t be? So she whipped off the Ashburnham emeralds and they fastened this new necklace around her neck. Very nice looking, but not as classy as the antique emeralds and didn't go with her dress as well.”

I could see his eyes starting to roll back into his head.
He seemed like one of those guys who would snap irritably if his wife asked him how she looks.

“What
happened after that?”

“That’s
the whole point, isn't it?” I pulled myself up and beamed five hundred years of breeding at the man. “If we knew what happened next, we would hardly need your services. The necklace was taken off, and Sally hasn't a clue what happened to it.”

Silence but for the manic scribbling in the notebook. I think I saw a slight smile flickering around the sergeant's lips as I
berated his superior, but I could be wrong.

“So
, what is this necklace worth? The boss cop sniffed. “I assume it has been recently appraised.”

Assume away, chump, obviously you don’t have to pay English taxes and death duties.

“Well, most of the Ashburnham jewellery has been appraised at various times. It's difficult to get insurance on such items as they have a value far beyond that of the stones and precious metals. They have historic provenance.”

There, chew on that,
Mr Policeman.

“So
this particular piece, when was it last appraised?”

“About
1965.”

“1965
?” His lovely black eyebrows disappeared under that curly lock of hair.

“Yes
, well – appraisals are usually done for death duties—”

“And
no one has died in your family since l965?” The poor man was trying to make sense of a world he would never understand,

“Not
at all, there aren't many of us but what there are, usually have the good grace to pass away at an appropriate time. But not all items are appraised for each Ashburnham's death, because not all Ashburnhams own each item.” I said. I was glossing, really. The reason most things weren't appraised was that, if they were, the death duties would be so high that we wouldn't have so much as a glass bead left now.

“Okay
, so what would you expect its worth to be, based on the appraisal?” Detective Liam's voice was taking on a pained sound. I bet he'd sound a whole lot more pained if he'd just lost his family jewels, so to speak.

“Well
, the price must have gone up a fair bit since l965. It appraised then at £200,000, pounds sterling, that is. I imagine its worth about £300,000 or more by now.”

There was a crash and a scream from the doorway. The three of us swivelled around just in time to see Sally follow the tray of tea things to the floor. Brown tea, sugar, milk, lemon slices and biscuits all mixed with Sally in a dead faint on Mairead's white shag.

“Shit! I didn't mean for her to hear that, poor Sally had no idea what that necklace was worth!” I raced towards my friend, dropping down on my knees to cradle her head. “This was my entire fault. I didn't tell her, because she'd never have been able to relax and enjoy herself. She's such a responsible person she'd have been worrying about the damned necklace the whole day. And she looked so pretty with it on, at the races”

“Yeah
, it did seem to come as a bit of a shock, seeing her react like this,” Detective Liam stated.

Wow
, the powers of deduction. Citizens of Wicklow, sleep soundly in your beds, Detective Liam is on the case!

“Come
on, Sally! Wake up!” I cried, slapping her on the face as I'd been taught in boarding school first aid classes.
‘Ladies with the vapours, if there are no smelling salts handy, slap 'em.’
I could still hear the gym teacher, who taught the first aid training, tell us. It had the desired effect, not one of her charges fainted or even pretended to faint throughout the school year.

“Oh
, Sally, come on!” I wailed, slapping her again.

“Diana
...” The voice was weak, but Sally was rallying.

“Sally
, the money doesn't mean a thing! You're my best friend!” And I meant it, too.

“Diana
!” The croak was stronger now. The poor thing was obviously moved by my distress.

“Diana
!”

“Yes
?”

“If
you don’t stop slapping me, so help me I'll put your lights out!”

I looked at my hand
, raised for another slap. I'd been thumping her in the face in time with my bleating.

“
Ooops!” I dropped the hand self-consciously and managed a glare at the detective sergeant, who whispered, “ Oh, bitch fight!” to his boss. Their smirks quickly disappeared under my murderous glance.

I helped Sally up
. It seemed the least I could do.

“Diana
!” Mairead's voice scratched my nerves.

“What
?” I snapped.

“You
are bleeding on my new white shag!”

“What
?” It was a whisper. I hate the sight of blood, especially my own. And there it was, dripping from around a vicious looking shard of Meissen china sticking out of my knee. I must have knelt on the damned thing but hadn’t noticed because I was so concerned about Sally. My head swam, but Ashburnham women don’t faint. We look the devil right in the eye and…

“Oh
, my goodness…”

Sally was obviously a lot more attentive in first aid class than I had been
. She yanked out the shard of china, and then swabbed my leg with the disinfectant Mairead handed her. I saw Sally’s secret smirk when I yelped at the sting. She applied a sticking plaster with really admirable efficiency.

While this was going on, Mairead
left the room and we could hear her out in her sitting room, phoning the carpet cleaning company.
Nice to know she cares.

“So
, why didn't you tell me what the necklace was worth? I thought it was, well, worth a bit, providing it wasn't paste. You see, I thought it probably
was
paste, that you'd sold all the good stuff and had copies made to save face…”

“My
God, Sally, do you think I'm that pretentious? No, we kept the jewellery; it's like a sacred trust, like Alexandria House. You've no idea what sacrifices we Ashburnhams have made to hang on to those bits of fancy stones and that ancient pile of stone.”

“Well
, why'd you do it, then? You could live pretty well off the proceeds if you sold the lot,” Sally said.

“It’s
because – well, they're not really mine to sell. They belong to The Estate. I don’t want to be known for the next five hundred years as the Ashburnham-Who-Lost-The-Lot.”

Sally and the cops exchanged glances. I was expecting men in white coats and a straitjacket to arrive and carry me off to the funny farm. Come to think of it, a nice cosy cell with rubber walls, and three square meals a day,
with no responsibilities, didn't sound half bad right now.

“Now
, Miss, who was there when you took the necklace off?”

“Oh
, oodles of people. I didn't know half their names.”

“Well
, it might actually help you to remember who you gave the necklace to?”

“Okay
.” Sally pulled her legs up beneath her on the baby blue leather upholstered chair and rubbed her chin. It's a habit she has when deep in thought. I remember it from the GSCE exams, nearly drove me crazy.

“Okay
, there was Mairead, Diana's cousin. And there was a fat guy with a smelly cigar and a woman in a really weird hat, it had what looked like a dead cat draped around the brim.”

The two guys had that glazed look again.

“Sally, just name the people you can, or give their positions, like race steward, etc.,” Detective Liam urged.

“Oh
, that's it! I know what happened to the necklace! James has it! I gave it to James, the chauffeur!”

The two detectives exchanged a meaningful glance.
“That would be James O'Reilly, the chauffeur?”

“Ah
, you know him! Does he have a record?” I asked.

“James
O’Reilly is known to us, Ma'am.”

My, aren't we getting formal?
I turned to Sally. “If you gave it to James, then why didn't he give it back later?” I asked.

“Rest
assured that we will ask him that question, Ma'am,” Detective Liam promised.

“Well
, when you question him, also ask him what he was doing in Richard's study with a small camera when he wasn't even supposed to be in the house, let alone have a key!”

The room was silent. We could clearly hear Mairead bullying the cleaning company's representatives.

“Please do not say a word to Mrs Ransome about her chauffeur. We wouldn't want to worry her unduly.”

“Or
tip him off.” I frowned.

“I
think, Lady Diana and Miss Barnes, it would be a good idea if we continued this conversation at the police station.”

With
no further explanation to Mairead, we were hustled out to the waiting car and 'helped' into the back seat like common criminals.

“Now
what have you got us into?” Sally asked.

Moi?
Was it me who handed a very valuable necklace to a criminal chauffeur?
Fortunately I had the good sense to keep those thoughts to myself.

C
HAPTER TEN

I really am going crazy. Sally's revelation to Josh and Bill in the hotel restaurant back in Dublin about the state of my mental health
really had
been a major exaggeration. But I’m coming to believe that I do suffer from a whole raft of neuroses.

I especially suffer from a type of claustrophobia brought on by being crammed into a smelly little interview room
with green walls and a half-hysterical Sally and an apparently deaf woman police officer as my only company.

We were
left in the room for a couple of hours, with only the bland-faced promise that '
someone will be with you shortly
' as reassurance to our plaintive demands to know what's going on.

Finally a heavyset middle-aged man enter
ed the room, his scruffy sports coat and weary-hound face proclaiming him a detective.
Certainly not a solicitor or a barrister, not in that cheap suit.

Attack is the best defence and
years of aristocratic breeding mean I do

it well.
“Look, my good man, if you don’t tell us immediately why we are being held here, then I will be calling up a barrister friend of mine and he'll have your asses whipped faster than you can say
habeas corpus
,” I snarled at him as he pulled out a chair and sat down.