jack of diamonds

i

Ten days after Reggie’s died, Artie was on the train for London. It’d been a difficult time for him—all the dealing with lawyers and the estate—but between the two of them, Claire sorted things out enough to realize Reggie actually owned the property. The more Artie looked into things, the more he realized Reggie had planned very carefully for his future by documenting everything. That came as something of a surprise, considering what he knew about his friend. There was the will, leaving everything to Claire outright, adding that it was for her to do with as she felt inclined—and those were the actual words he’d used—while the lawyer suggested she sell the property right away. He told her that as a woman it was too much for her to take on, and Claire told him she’d have to think about it. He made the mistake of telling her she had two days to make up her mind; she told him he’d be lucky if he had two days before she fired him.

Speaking later, Artie told her she could always let the property out and thus be guaranteed to have a monthly stipend. He was certain a lawyer could set it up for her—any lawyer—and was quick to add that his uncle was probably better suited to give advice than he was. Artie smiled and asked her if she really thought she could see herself as a farmer in five years time—living by herself, he added, because she’d have no time to meet another man. She smiled and shook her head slowly.

“I can’t picture another man in my life, Artie,” she sighed. “Not right now.”

“Why would you?”

“I couldn’t picture Reggie as a farmer the first time I met him, either,” she said, her smile nothing more than a brief lift at the corner of her mouth. “But he was, wasn’t he? He’d toughed it out; he figured it out, too, in the end. But no, you’re right, this isn’t the life for me. I just don’t want to let it go right now.”

“If you sold the land, you could open a pie shop in town.”

“And what about deliveries? I can’t drive one of those things,” she added, looking at the truck parked along the side of the house.

“It’s not hard to learn. I could teach you, if you’re really interested.”

“Teach me?”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never made life here easy for you,” she said, looking up at him in the soft sunlight. She held a hand up to block the sun, and he stepped to the left for her, his tall frame casting a shadow across her.

“Life isn’t meant to be easy, is it?” Artie smiled. “Not here, not in London, not anywhere for that matter. It’s something I’ve learned over the years. My father said it to me first, though. I didn’t understand why he said it at the time…not until I got older. As the youngest, there wasn’t anything left for me by the time I came into my inheritance. You see? Life isn’t meant to be easy. When he dies, he’ll leave me with nothing.”

“Then why are you going to London?”

“I have a few questions that have been nattering at me.”

“Questions? Like what?”

“Like, what was Reggie doing there in the first place?”

“What do you think happened?”

Yes…what do I think happened? he asked himself, looking out of the train’s window at the countryside passing by. He could see, in the reflection of the berth behind him, where the woman reading her book was looking over at him once in a while.

She was the only other occupant.

He looked up at the pale moon, a thin white slice hanging up in a light blue sky. Almost invisible with the lights in the berth giving the window its mirror-like qualities, he thought. The green, rolling hills of the Devon countryside reminded him of France during the war. He could even see willow trees dancing in the distance, their naked branches lashing at the sky.

“Have you ever been to France?” he asked the woman’s reflection before he turned to look at her. She was a young woman—no older than he was—and striking as far as he could discern. She wore hair in long ringlets, cascading over her shoulders, and for a moment he wondered if it was natural, or if she’d had it done for her trip out to London.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked. She seemed to be taken off-guard by the question.

“Have you ever been to France? Not Paris, or the other cities, but the countryside?”

“I’m sorry, no,” she smiled politely, turning her attention back to her book.

“It’s much the same as this,” he smiled, pointing out of the window.

“Is it?” She looked at him again. “And you know this, why?”

“I was there during the war,” he added, smiling as he turned to look out of the window again.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I should have realized,” she replied.

“Are you going to London, then?” he asked after a moment.

“Have we changed trains?”

He smiled.

“I can honestly say I deserved that,” he said with a light laugh.

“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning forward and placing a finger between the pages of her book. “That was uncalled for on my part. For most of my life I’ve been told not to speak with strangers—and I was assured that I’d be the sole occupant of this car—”

“What? Are you apologizing for calling me to task?” he laughed again. “It was a dumb question in the first place. Of course you’re going to London. Where are you staying?”

She’d started reading again, but dropped her hands on her laps and smiled at him. It felt genuine, he thought—or as genuine as he thought a woman like her could be. He could see there was laughter in her eyes though, and a glow to her face; it almost seemed as if she was properly embarrassed just speaking to him, but excited at the same time. All he had to do was to keep her talking. If he could keep her occupied, or distracted long enough, perhaps he could keep her off balance enough for the seduction to succeed.

“Soho.”

“I’ll be tramping about in Mayfair myself,” he smiled. “We’re practically neighbours.”

“Are you there for business? I mean, you look like you might be involved in a business of some sort. Are you a barrister? Or a solicitor, even?”

“I’m in business, of a sort,” Artie smiled.

“Rather a strange sort of answer, that.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“That depends now then, doesn’t it?” she asked, a defensive posture to her attitude.

“Are you married?” he asked, suddenly changing the subject.

“I beg your pardon?” She seemed confused, and blushed a darker colour. He wondered how she was able to control herself to such an extent.

“I asked you if you were married?” Artie smiled.

She put her finger between the pages of her book and looked at him again. Her eyes were a deep blue, hidden behind a thin pair of spectacles. He cheekbones were prominent, her lips small and upturned, painted as if she were a vamp in the cinema. There was a hardness about her he couldn’t pin down, but then, he knew she wasn’t the woman she was pretending to be.

But more than just another street fanny.

“And if I was?”

“I’d ask you where he is,” Artie laughed, looking under a cushion.

“And if I said he’s in Soho, waiting?”

“I doubt if I’d believe you,” Artie said, trying to look serious. “I think you’re more inclined to telling people—such as myself—that you’re married for that very reason. That way, you don’t have to get into long, boring, conversations with people like me.”

“You’re very good at this,” she smiled.

Artie regarded her for a moment. He wouldn’t let himself trust her, but the thought of seducing her appealed to him now more than it had when he’d first spotted her getting on to the train.

“I find it helps, in my line of work,” he smiled back.

“And what line of work is that?”

“I’m a thief. I steal women’s hearts.”

“Do you, now? And how do you propose to steal my heart?” she asked, a coquettish smile playing on the edge of her lips.

“Did you know there was a tunnel up ahead?”

“Before we go any further, what’s your name?” she asked.

“Solomon.”

“Solomon? I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Solomon. Now tell me, how do you propose to seduce me once the train breeches the tunnel?”

“Would you like me to tell you, or should I show you?”

“If what you’re proposing is what I think it is, perhaps you should show me?”