Pillow Talk (38 page)

‘Stunning!’ It didn't take Petra long to realize their primary focus was on the stone and not the whole.

‘Can you match it?’ Charlton asked.

‘Don't be ridiculous, Charlton,’ said the first woman. ‘It's tanzanite. Of course we can't match it. But we'll have something comparable.’ She unlocked the cage, opened a safe and brought out a few white leather purses. Each contained a sizeable stone. ‘But you may have to go for a different cut,’ she told Petra, almost apologetically. ‘And of course you'll also need to rework the housing to accommodate a new stone. We can find a similar weight – but the colour of yours, it's truly exceptional. We won't have anything that blue. Tell me more about it – how did you come by it? Have you had it graded?’

‘I've had it for over sixteen years. It was bequeathed to me by a lady whose husband was a prospector in Tanzania in the 1960s – he was looking for rubies at the time because of course no one knew of the existence of tanzanite. So, no one else has had this stone. I believe it's vBE, eye-clean. 39.43 carats.’

‘Wow.’

‘Double wow,’ said the other woman. She grinned at Petra. ‘And it's definitely not for sale?’

Petra laughed and shook her head. ‘Nope. Never.’

So Petra didn't make her fortune from that first bracelet because she had to balance the profit against the purchase of a new stone. In the end, the actress came away with just over 40 carats of tanzanite which in her reckoning was preferable to just under. Even if the cut was not as mesmerizing as Petra's and the new stone was a touch more violet than blue. It was still dazzling. Just not quite the colour of dreams.

Epilogue

Did Petra Flint sleepwalk again? Occasionally, but Arlo would watch her leave the bed and mostly she would just hover by the bedroom door before retracing her steps and coming back to sleep.

And did Arlo Savidge's insomnia disappear? Not entirely, certainly not overnight, but it subsided significantly. And if there were nights when he couldn't sleep, he found that gazing at his girlfriend was far more soothing than staring at marks on the paintwork. There was nothing specific keeping him awake any more, just a hard habit he was slowly learning to break. And if things go bump in the night then he wakes up and guides her back to bed.

He kept her secret and she kept his and they found in each other a place of such safekeeping that they knew any future issues or grievances, on whatever scale, could be dealt with together. Custodians of each other's hearts.

* * *

‘Ah, the return of the native,’ Kitty greeted Petra after a fortnight's absence up north.

‘How are you, Kitty,’ Petra gave her a fond hug.

‘One of these days I'm going to surprise you, Petra. I'm going to jump on a train and spring a visit. All this talk of looking for a studio and finding inspiration in the landscape. I bet I'd find you sprawled on Jenn's sofa watching daytime TV.’

Petra laughed. And then she thought about it. ‘Why don't you come up and visit, Kitty? I'll take you to Whitby. You'd love it. Goths and amazing jet and fantastic chips too. Please come.’

Kitty returned to her bench but the look on her face told Petra she was actively considering the invitation. ‘Maybe.’

‘Name your date!’ Petra laughed, excited.

‘Next month perhaps? Otherwise it'll have to wait until after Christmas.’

‘Oh Kitty, please come.’

‘How long are you down for this time?’ Gina asked, bringing over a cup of coffee.

‘A couple of weeks, actually. I need to get cracking on the bracelet with the three rubies. Where's Eric?’

‘Said he'd be in by lunch-time.’

Petra's mobile phone bleeped through a message. ‘That'll be him now, probably.’

Mum says pls come 4 xmas

Petra looked at the message and frowned. Who on earth was this? She didn't recognize the number. Was it Tinks, her mother's barking friend? It couldn't be her father, that would make no sense at all. She sent a message back.

Who is this?

There was no reply. Must be the text equivalent of a crossed line, Petra thought to herself. She deleted the message and thought no more of it until her phone bleeped again over an hour later.

It's me

For Christ's sake.

Who's me?

Another interminable wait. Petra was starting to feel irritated.

Arlo u mad woman – who did u think it was?

Petra's fingers felt all thumbs as she tried to scroll through the options on the message to have the number called back instead of replied to by text.

‘Hullo?’ said Arlo's voice as if he didn't have a clue who'd be ringing him at this time. He was walking between lessons and was eager not to let the boys see him practising what the school preached against during school hours.

‘Arlo? It's me. Whose phone is this?’

‘It's mine.’ He sounded quite put out.

‘But you don't have a mobile phone.’

‘I do. As of today.’

‘But why did you get one?’

There was a pause.

‘Because I miss you.’ He paused again. ‘I miss you when you're not here.’

Petra was in too much of a swoon to be able to answer him.

‘Anyway, Mum wanted to know if you'd like to come for Christmas?’

‘I'd love to,’ said Petra.

‘Shall I text her or will you?’ Arlo asked.

‘You do it,’ Petra laughed. ‘She'll be amazed.’

A couple of weeks before Christmas, not long after Kitty's visit, Arlo and Petra were down in London again, sitting on Eric's sofa reading the Sunday papers. Or rather Arlo was trying to read the papers while Petra fidgeted.

He peered over the top of one of the supplements and gave her a stern look.

‘Are you reading that?’ she asked.

‘I'd like to be,’ he said.

She crawled across the sofa and scrunched the paper away from him. ‘Can I put something by you?’

‘Can I read the papers afterwards undisturbed?’

‘Promise,’ said Petra. Arlo watched as she drew breath. ‘It's just – well, I know what I want to do.’ She paused. ‘With my tanzanite.’

‘I've heard that one before,’ Arlo laughed, looking down to the pile of papers, about to retrieve one.

‘No – I mean, for good. And it really is for
good
. Remember when Charlton took me to buy the new stone for the original bracelet? And I met those two lovely women in the mad tiny office with the huge cage? Well, one of the women is the administrator for the foundation which ensures all mining is ethical and that a percentage of the industry's annual profits are directed back to the Masai community.’

Arlo wasn't sure where this could possibly be leading.

‘There's a small museum,’ Petra said, ‘near one of the empty mines.’ She stopped. Her eyes sparkled. ‘I'm going to give them my tanzanite. To put in their museum. That way, Mrs McNeil can return to Tanzania. I've told them they can have it on the condition that it's on permanent display and that it becomes known as the Lillian McNeil Tanzanite.’

* * *

Esther Savidge wasn't sure what sort of Christmas Petra was used to or what she'd like so she decided the best thing to do was simply to invite her to partake of a Savidge Christmas. Which probably differed very little to many other Christmases happening across the world. In Potters Bar. Or North Finchley. Or Yarm. Or Brondesbury. Stokesley. New Cross. Hong Kong. Chelsea. Hatton Garden. Even in Watford. Or Kent.

‘We usually have goose – is that OK?’ she'd said on the phone to Petra.

‘It's very OK,’ Petra had said.

And it was. It was delicious.

The only aspect Petra hadn't been sure about was the opening of the presents. Traditionally, she liked to rip open her parcels and packages at the crack of dawn. The Savidges, it transpired, opened theirs after lunch. In a calm, controlled manner. Each person opening just one parcel in turn.

A cashmere scarf. Hardbacked novels she'd had her eye on but had been waiting for in paperback. Jo Malone bath oil. A calender sumptuously illustrated with Joe Cornish photographs of North Yorkshire. A pair of running shoes, because Arlo said she was always going on about getting fit. And an envelope with a ‘P’ on the front.

She would open that last. Just vouchers or something.

‘Is this from you?’ she asks Arlo when there's nothing left but the envelope.

He nods.

She slips her finger under the seal and jags it open. She pulls out the contents. A page of A4 paper headed ‘ITINERARY’.

And two plane tickets. Destination: Kilimanjaro International Airport. Date: 17 February.

She stares at Arlo.

‘It's half-term,’ he shrugs nonchalantly as if it's on a par with a weekend away in the Cotswolds. ‘I thought we ought to accompany the Lillian McNeil Tanzanite home.’

She throws her arms around his neck while Esther claps her hands in delight.

Petra glances down the itinerary again, absorbing more information this time. There's a six-day trek to Kilimanjaro, to watch dawn break from the peak on 23 February.

Tears are in her eyes. It's all so unbelievable. But actually, it's very real because it says so in black and white on the A4 paper in her hand.

Arlo has one final surprise in store for Petra, though she claims not to like surprises. But this one is a question he's intending to pop when they've reached the summit of Kilimanjaro, that mountain of Petra's daydreams. And though Arlo knows how Petra will answer, he can't wait to ask her anyway.

Author's note and Acknowledgements

Tanzanite is one of the world's most sought-after gemstones. In contrast to the horror and lawlessness in the trade of ‘conflict’ or ‘blood’ diamonds, protocols have been established to ensure that all tanzanite is traded through legitimate and transparent channels by licensed dealers. Tanzanite is the only gemstone to be given an official ‘clean bill of health’ (at the International Gem Convention in Tucson, 2003). To champion tanzanite's heritage and safeguard its integrity, the Tanzanite Foundation was established as a non-profit, industry-supported organization.

The Tanzanite Foundation carefully monitors methods of practice and conduct and works to maintain the integrity of tanzanite's route-to-market while highlighting the importance of social consciousness and ethical methods of operation. Committed to making a real difference to the lives of the local community at tanzanite's source, the foundation funds social and economic upliftment. Initiatives are meaningful and sustainable and, to date, include a medi-clinic, a community centre, the Nasinyai Primary School and a new secondary school, infrastructural upgrades to the roads, the Small Mines Assistance Programme, and fresh water supply to 2000 villagers and 4500 head of cattle.

I am indebted to Alex Duxbury and Gabriella Endlin at the Tanzanite Foundation for letting me spend many an absorbing hour in their company, for providing me with fascinating research material and for allowing me sit in ‘the cage’ surrounded by stunning tanzanites. Thank you so much.

From Hatton Garden to Runswick Bay, researching
Pillow Talk
was a real treat – a true perk of my job. I'm so grateful to Dan and the staff at Bellore (39 Greville Street, London EC1N 8PJ, www.bellore.co.uk); also to Louise Fennell, Shaun Leane, Ana de Costa, Andrew Howe at Wright & Teague, Kate Reardon, Petra Bishai and her students at Kensington and Chelsea College – thank you all for letting me natter and/or loiter.

Special thanks to Sam Barbic for so generously opening the door to her somnambulant world and allowing me to peep inside and poke around. Here's to a good night's sleep.

To Nigel and Jennifer Garton – thank you for the loan of your names and your fantastic hospitality Up North.

When I was at school, the teachers often complained about my propensity for daydreaming. Nowadays, part of my job requires me to do just that! However, my words would be stuck in the clouds, or confined to my laptop at the very least, were it not for the expert collaboration of the skilled team supporting me.

My heartfelt gratitude to everyone at my publishers, HarperCollins – particularly to Lynne Drew my brilliant editor and pal, Claire Bord and Victoria Hughes-Williams; to Amanda Ridout; to Lee Motley; to Damon Greeney, Karen Davies and Sylvia May; to Elspeth Dougall, Wendy Neale and Clive Kintoff; to Leisa Nugent and Lucy Upton; to Marie Goldie and the Glasgow crew.

However, were it not for my wise and wonderful agent, I'd be stuck for a publisher – I am thus indebted to Jonathan Lloyd a.k.a J.Llo, at Curtis Brown Ltd, and to Alice Lutyens and Camilla Goslett who summon Mr Lloyd from Very Important Meetings and Very Long Lunches when I want to speak to him. Mary Chamberlain, my diligent copy-editor, and Sophie Ransom, my industrious publicist, complete Team North.

My thanks to all of you, for the support, the fun – and the success.

To Haringey Library Services, particularly Susan, Hilary, Germaine and Lai-Ming, thank you for my magical space and those much appreciated cups of coffee.

Thank you, Jonny Zucker, for the Fabs and Minstrels and office goss.

Behind the scenes and after office hours, my warmest thanks to the Cohens, the Sutcliffes and Jerney de Vries. Also to the Earls Farm savvy club, especially Souki, Sue and Sarah.

Finally, to Jo and Luce and Kirsty and Sarah (again), to Kle and Jeanette and Cousin Kate and Melanie and Karen. When it comes to friendship, you are priceless gems and I love you.

www.cancerresearchuk.org (in memory of my beautiful friend Liz Berney, 1968-2005)

www.rhysdanielstrust.org