Diamonds are for Marriage: The Australian's Society Bride

“He came riding with me,” Leona said, deliberately offhand though it took a huge effort. She continued on her way down the picture-lined gallery towards her room.

“Did he now!” Robbie exclaimed, following her up. “The relationship growing, is it?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” She kept on walking.

“Despite the fact you’re Boyd’s marmalade kitten?”

She had to laugh at such a fanciful description. “I always thought of myself as the stray duckling.”

“Ah, Leo, sweetie, you yearn for his good graces,” Robbie said, loudly sighing. “So do I, for that matter. Black tie tonight?”

“You know it is.”

“I bet you’ve brought something exquisite to wear.” How beautiful Leo was, Robbie thought proudly. Glorious hair, glorious skin, glorious eyes—a romantic dream.

“Nothing else like it in the world,” she joked. In fact she had brought two beautiful evening dresses with her. You know who for. “I tell you what. Let me have a quick shower after that gallop. Get into your gear and I’ll meet you at the courts in around twenty minutes.”

“You’re an angel.” He hugged her, an inbred Latin style in all his movements. “Shall I ask Simon and his girlfriend to join us? I think Simon is planning on announcing their engagement quite soon.” Simon was one of the Blanchard cousins, also working for the firm.

“Good idea. Emma is so nice.”

“And her family own a nice big sheep station,” Robbie pointed out waspishly. “Let’s not put that little fact aside.”

“Ah, well, money usually marries money,” Leona said.

“And power begets power. How enviable it all is! And a very good idea, I suppose. These days women get half of what a guy has if they split up, so why then shouldn’t women bring a dowry with them like the old days? Rupe is madly pushing poor old Chloe at Boyd.”

“Robbie,” Leona reproved too sharply but she couldn’t help herself.

“Leona,” he responded heavily. “You have to remember there’s always tremendous pressure on people with lots of money to keep up. They have huge overheads. Houses, cars, planes, yachts, skillions of employees. To old Rupe’s eyes it would be utterly right to push Boyd and Chloe together. She’s a nice girl. Bit dim but everyone likes her. Even me and I’m vaguely anti-women. After all, two fortunes are better than one. It’s not marrying for money at all. It’s plain common sense.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t point out that Annalise quite likes you,” she put in lightly. Annalise was one of the clan, an intelligent, graceful young woman, still at university.

“Does she really?” Robbie’s lean cheeks flushed with colour.

Leona smiled at him.

“I’d never be allowed to court Annalise,” he said gloomily. “I’m the peasant in your midst.”

“Oh, don’t start that phoney inferiority stuff again,” she warned him. “It’s all a pretence. Even I can see you’re an attractive guy. There’s no reason why you couldn’t ask Annalise out. I’m sure she’d accept.”

Robbie, for answer, suddenly vaulted effortlessly over an antique chair, one of several set along the wall. “Have you heard from the parents?” The acid was back in his tone. Leona’s father and Delia were currently in London, a mix of business and pleasure. They weren’t due back for another fortnight.

“I heard from Dad the other night,” Leona volunteered, still concerned by how superficial that brief conversation had been. Her father might have been reading from a prepared script, though maybe he’d felt inhibited by Delia’s presence most probably behind him.

Perhaps Leona’s great likeness to her mother tied her poor father in knots. Instead of turning to her as all he had left of his beautiful young first wife, he had turned not away, but aside. Leona was certain that her father didn’t love Delia. Never had. He had simply felt it necessary as a Blanchard, a man of consequence who moved in high society, to have a partner, a token wife. Delia, a career socialite, was glamorous enough. She could play her part. Without being in the same league as the main family, or occupying the same stage, her father was nonetheless a wealthy man. Delia would never have married a nobody, thus proving Robbie’s sage theory.

“Mummy dearest was too busy to ring me,” Robbie said, as though thrilled to bits that she hadn’t.

“She didn’t speak to me either, Robbie.”

“We’re like two lost children, aren’t we, Leo? Makes us vulnerable, don’t you think?”

A truth that couldn’t be ignored. “Well, I don’t intend to let it swamp me,” she said. “Don’t let it swamp you either. It’s not easy being part and yet not a part of the mega-rich.”

“Well, you’re in,” Robbie said. “You’re part of the tribe. I never will be.” They had arrived at her door.

“You’ve got lots going for you, Robbie. Now, go change. I’ll meet you down on the courts. We’ll beat those two.”

“A piece of cake!” Robbie smiled, returned to good humour.

By the time they came back from their triumphant doubles match the house had its full complement of weekend guests. Pre-dinner drinks in the formal drawing room. Dinner at eight. Leona loved these occasions. She loved seeing the men in black tie. She loved being given the opportunity to dress up. She knew Jinty and the highly ambitious Tonya would be looking their most glamorous. The sisters bore a close family resemblance, both blond and blue-eyed, but whereas Jinty made the most of her eye-catching full figure, Tonya had elected to go for skin and bone. For that matter Leona couldn’t actually remember ever seeing Tonya eat anything.

She had wondered why Chloe Compton wasn’t among the guests until Geraldine had informed her that Chloe was attending the wedding of an old school friend in Auckland, New Zealand.

“Chloe won’t go away. Dearie me, no!” Geraldine offered, somewhat darkly.

“Go away?” What was Gerri going on about?

“Don’t be dense, child.” Geraldine had actually pinched her. “It doesn’t suit you. Every last member of the Compton tribe is campaigning for Chloe to become Mrs. Boyd Blanchard.”

“But I thought you all were!” Leona answered in amazement. “Let’s face it. It’s Rupert’s dearest wish.”

“Bugger Rupert!” said Geraldine.

Bathed, make-up and hair done, Leona looked down at the two evening dresses spread out on her Versailles-style bed. One was a beautifully draped emerald-green georgette silk with a faux diamond brooch detail at the waist. Green, after all, was her colour and the dress was definitely sexy. Maybe too sexy. The other was chiffon of a colour that defied description. Neither pink nor apricot but a marvellous blend of the two. Bea had actually picked it out for her.

“This colour was made for you, Leona, my dear, with that magnificent mane of hair. Not many can get away with the ethereal style either, but you can. Take it. It’s a gift!”

Closely fitted to the hip, embroidered to one side with matching flowers and leaves, the neckline plunged, as was the fashion, the skirt flowed gracefully to the floor. No doubt about it, it was exquisite. And it looked even better on.

What kind of statement did she wanted to make? The femme fatale or the springtime nymph? In the end she opted for the ethereal, romantic look. No getting away from it, it did suit her style of looks and she was rather worried about pushing her sexuality. She couldn’t afford to be too obvious about it. Sweet little Leona to Rupert—that was the way he would want her to remain. Rupert wouldn’t hear of any other woman for his son but Chloe Compton. She understood that fully. And Rupert had long since developed the habit of getting everything he wanted.

But then—Boyd had kissed her. If he never kissed her again, she would remember it for her whole life. And, remembering, live off it. Wasn’t there a law that said one was only allowed one great love in life? She hoped not.

When she walked into the drawing room in her high heeled evening sandals, her chiffon skirt floating around her, everyone with one notable exception, looked at her with open pleasure, Peter Blanchard, one of the cousins, with open adoration. She had known Peter all of her life. He had been her escort on many, many occasions and she was very fond of him. He was good-looking, clever and charming in his way. He had a number of university degrees under his belt, one from Harvard Business School. Like most of the clan, he worked for Blanchards.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t hold a candle to Boyd, who was staring across the room at her, blue eyes glittering. She started to breathe deeply. That was right. In and out. She had the sudden delirious notion that her dress had turned transparent. Her glance shot away to Rupert, who was smiling his approval. Rupert was standing with his son in front of the fireplace, with its white marble surround and magnificent eighteenth century English mirror. Both men were of a height, both possessed of a charisma that commanded attention.

The fireplace when not in use in spring and summer was generally occupied by a large Chinese fish bowl filled with masses and masses of flowers and greenery. Tonight the big blue and white bowl held a profusion of pink Oriental lilies, with twisting dried branches, spear grasses and a fan of palms. Leona noticed abstractedly that the lilies matched the colours of her dress—pink with speckled golden-apricot throats.

Geraldine, seated on one of the damask upholstered sofas in conversation with one of the Blanchard wives, waved her over. She presented a vision of striking eccentricity in her favourite imperial purple with diamond and amethyst earrings as big as chandeliers swinging from her ears. Tonya was half turned away, as though Leona’s entrance had been staged and in any case was of no interest to her. Champagne glass in hand, she looked very glamorous in a short evening gown of a deep glowing shade of fuchsia. All the women had made a real effort to sparkle and glow. Simon’s serene Emma wore blue to match her eyes. It was a comparatively modest gown given the evening wear around her, but she wore it with unselfconscious ease, certain of her place in the scheme of things.

And here was Jinty, the hostess with the mostest. That certainly applied tonight. No one, but no one could hope to outshine Jinty, Leona thought as Jinty flowed towards her. She had gone all out tonight. Money simply wasn’t an issue. She wore a couture black satin strapless gown, above which her creamy bosom swelled proudly. Her thick blonde hair was coiffed to perfection, swept up and back. She would have a hairdresser in residence. But everything was simply a backdrop to showcase the “Blanchard Diamonds”.

They were so glorious that the owner of the most magnificent collection of jewels in the world, the Queen of England might have envied them. The suite comprised three pieces—necklace, pendant earrings and bracelet. All white diamonds, they were colourless and flawless. A double row of pear-shaped diamonds encircled Jinty’s neck. Appended to the bottom row was a large square-shaped diamond enhancer enclosing a huge canary diamond that Leona knew weighed in at over thirty carats. The earrings alone featured two nine carat drops that flashed and scintillated with Jinty’s every movement. Everyone in the family knew the suite had been acquired at the turn of the twentieth century from a famous South African billionaire who had plenty more where they’d come from. The diamonds had been mined at De Beers, Cecil Rhodes’ first diamond mine. So the suite had a history.

The last time Leona had seen the whole suite Aunt Alexa had been wearing it at a grand state ball. Jinty often wore the superb earrings. Sometimes the bracelet. But so far the necklace hadn’t had an outing. Tradition had it that the suite was to be handed down through the generations for the use of the current wife of the head of the Blanchard family. Which made Jinty merely a custodian, which was a blessing. If Rupert and Jinty ever split up, her share would be in multiples of millions, but she would never get away with the “Blanchard Diamonds”.

“Jinty, you look simply marvelous!” Leona said, because she did.

“Why, thank you, dear!” Jinty responded brightly. “The diamonds make me feel like a goddess.”

“They look wonderful on you. They really do.” And she meant it.

“And you look perfectly beautiful as usual,” Jinty responded graciously. “Where did you get that dress? The colour is extraordinary. Especially with your hair.”

“Bea picked it out,” Leona said.

Jinty gave a faint shudder. “Can’t stand the woman, though I know she’s a genius of sorts. Ugly though, don’t you think? Rupert won’t hear a word against her. Now, I must get you a glass of champagne.” She turned away in time to see Boyd approaching. “Ah, here’s Boyd with one,” she said brightly.

Boyd stopped in front of them, handing a glass of champagne to Leona. “No need to tell you you look ravishing, Leona,” he said, an unmistakably caressing intonation in his voice.

“That she does,” Jinty seconded rather abruptly. “Where’s that stepbrother of yours, Leo? We can’t go into dinner without him.”

“There’s plenty of time,” Boyd murmured, looking towards the entrance hall. The circular library table that stood in the middle of the spacious hall, which was paved in a diamond pattern of marble and stone, was the perfect spot for another stunning flower arrangement, this time a profusion of roses, gerberas, lisianthus and leaves. “Here he is now,” Boyd said as Robbie suddenly hove into view.

“Slowcoach!” Jinty spoke crisply, a little afraid of Robbie’s satirical tongue. She didn’t linger, but moved off as though her husband had beckoned. He hadn’t.

Leona stood with the fragile crystal wineglass in her hand.

“Come and sit down,” Boyd said.

“Geraldine was looking out for me.”

“Geraldine can have her moment later. You’re mine now.” His hand slipped beneath her elbow. Maybe she was becoming paranoid, but she had a sense that the whole room had snapped to attention. Tonya of the high slanting cheekbones was looking daggers at her. Tonya was having a lot of difficulty accepting Boyd was as good as spoken for. Ignoring the competition, especially in the form of Chloe Compton, was a heroic effort or a piece of madness on Tonya’s part so far as Leona was concerned, but Tonya had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the hunt.

Maybe all we women are delusional, Leona thought. Seeing signs and intentions where there were none.

Robbie, looking gratifyingly handsome and very Italian in his formal gear, which any discerning eye could see was Italian and a perfect fit, met up with them in the centre of the drawing room with its apple-green and gold upholstery and curtains and a splendid duck-egg blue, white and gold plated ceiling.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologised. “Usually I don’t have a problem, but I had trouble with my tie. You look wonderful, Leo.” His dark eyes moved over her with pride and admiration. “Doesn’t she, Boyd?” he queried, not so artlessly.

Boyd just smiled. “I don’t know if wonderful quite says it, Robbie. Magical comes to mind.”

Robbie suddenly caught sight of Jinty. “Good grief!” he breathed. “What’s she got on, the Crown Jewels?”

“Those, my man, are the Blanchard Diamonds,” Boyd corrected him. “Not the same thing.”

“You’ve seen the earrings before,” Leona reminded him. “Jinty often wears them.”

“But the necklace!” Robbie was looking dazzled. “I’ve an overwhelming desire to go over and take a closer look, but I don’t know what would happen. Our Jinty has a mean streak. She might punch me in the nose. I have to say those diamonds look great on her, but think what they would look like on you, Leo!” He turned to her.

“No, no, no!” Leona shook her head vigorously, making the deep waves and curls dance. The Blanchard Diamonds were destined for Boyd’s wife. She wasn’t wearing a necklace anyway. She had nothing that could remotely match the jewellery around her in any case. But she was wearing her mother’s lovely earrings, a daisy wheel of pink sapphires and tiny diamonds with a silver baroque pearl appended from each.

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream!” Boyd suggested. “You don’t need diamonds, Leo. A crown of flowers on your head would be perfect.”

Robbie stared up at the taller man. “That’s it exactly. God, you’re a romantic guy, Boyd. No wonder the women love you. You say really romantic things.”

“To Leona, I think you mean?” Boyd’s voice was vaguely self-mocking.

Robbie was still staring back at Boyd thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, yes. To Leona.” He made a sudden move. “Listen, I’m going to grab a Martini.”

“As long as you don’t make it bath-sized,” Boyd warned. Some time tomorrow morning he intended to have his little talk with Robbie. He would not be allowed to continue on the path he’d been taking.

By eight o’clock everyone was seated at the long mahogany table. Twenty-four in all, looking as though they belonged perfectly in such a grand room. It was Jinty’s job to keep an excellent table. Rupert expected it of her, so she had made it her business to employ the best people. Older members of the clan, however, had privately expressed the opinion that occasionally Jinty’s food was too exotic for their taste.

Leona had been placed beside Peter, a little right of centre table. Robbie was opposite her. Geraldine was to her brother’s right. Boyd was seated to Jinty’s right with Tonya all but opposite him. Everyone was arranged according to the pecking order.

“Some artistic genius has arranged the flowers,” Leona remarked to Peter, touching a gentle finger to a rose petal.

“Can’t be Jinty.” He bent closer to whisper in her ear. “Some of darling Jinty’s early floral arrangements went spectacularly wrong.”

Strangely, it was true. Leona had previously thought one could scarcely go wrong with beautiful flowers but obviously there were many routes to getting things right. There was definitely an art to mixing colours. Tonight, tall glass cylinder vases wrapped in ivy, equally spaced down the table, held an exquisite mix of yellow and cream roses and buttercup-coloured day lilies. No doubt the flowers had been chosen to complement the cream damask cloth, the gold and white plates and the gold napkin rings. It all looked very lovely.

The first course was served. Superb large white scallops on an Asian risotto cake with fresh pesto and lime slices. That went down well. Sipping at her crisp white wine, which had a tang of citrus to it, Leona caught Boyd’s eye. Instantly she experienced an electric touch to her mind, heart and body. How easy it was to become lost in that profoundly blue gaze.

Peter was saying something to her, but she barely heard.

“Are you listening to me?” Peter tapped the knuckles of her hand for attention.

“Of course I am.” She had to gather herself. “You were talking about your trip to Antarctica. How it changed you for ever.”

Peter smiled, pleased she had been paying attention. The whole family knew he had a real thing for Leona. It was as though he couldn’t get past her. “It’s an amazing place. A world of blinding white ice. It might sound strange, but there’s only one other place in the world where I’ve been so overwhelmed.”

“Our Outback,” Leona guessed. “The vastness, the mystical quality, the extraordinary isolation?”

“Very good.” Peter tapped her hand again. “Both places have had a powerful effect on me. Sometimes I think I would have liked to be an adventurer,” he confided, giving her his endearing smile.

“Instead you’re inordinately clever at handling a great deal of money, Peter.”

“Well, there’s something in that. Can’t wait for the polo match tomorrow afternoon. That’s what I need, a damned good gallop. You’re going to be on the sidelines cheering me on?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, smiling.

The main course arrived. Nothing too complicated, more a classic. Racks of spring lamb with a buttery, crisp green herb crust served with a medley of vegetables including freshly baked young courgettes stuffed with peas and spring onions.

Conversation around the table flourished. These country weekends had become something of a ritual. Down the opposite end of the table, their hostess, Jinty, kept talking to Boyd, obviously captivated by his conversation. It was obvious to them all that she was fascinated by her stepson and oblivious to the building tension in her sister, Tonya. Looking at Tonya’s strained, impatient face, Leona could feel the turbulent current from where she was sitting. Robbie, across the table, kept catching her eye, his dark eyes glistening with malicious humour. She could read what he was telling her. What did Rupe think about his wife paying so much attention to his son? Rupert, as sharp as they came, would have been observing what was going on. An intolerant man at the best of times, Rupert might have a few words to say to Jinty when the evening was over. He would know Boyd was simply being Boyd, a brilliant conversationalist who, without any effort on his part, became the object of women’s fantasies.

Desserts arrived. A choice between a bitter chocolate mousse tart and Rupert’s great favourite, a richly flavoured deep-dish apple pie served with double cream.

“I hope Rupert doesn’t make a habit of ordering up that apple pie,” Peter murmured. “There has to be an incredible number of calories in it and just look at how much extra cream he’s putting on!”

“Don’t worry, Rupert will live for ever,” Leona murmured back, thinking mournfully that only the good died young.

After a lingering coffee and liqueurs everyone adjourned to the drawing room, where Jinty was to entertain them. Jinty was quite an accomplished chanteuse, using her mellow mezzo to sing everlasting blues favourites made famous by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald and Peggy Lee. To top it off, she accompanied herself on the big Steinway concert grand.

“Don’t clap too much,” Peter, who wasn’t a music lover, warned Leona in a quick aside, “or we might be here until four in the morning.”

As it was, Jinty knew the perfect moment to stop. The entertainment had gone on for the best part of an hour. Now a genuine round of applause broke out when she rose, tall and voluptuous from the piano seat, her somewhat haughty face softened by such appreciation. She gave a little bow, the lights from the four matching giltwood chandeliers as nothing compared to the dazzling white flashes given off by the “Blanchard Diamonds”.

“I’d give my soul for the earrings alone,” one of the Blanchard wives was heard to whisper to her husband, perhaps as an incentive for him to work harder.

Leona felt she knew better than that. The soul was sacred. Bad enough to give your heart away.

Boyd was much in demand. So much so it was difficult to get near him. Even Tonya’s all out efforts at seduction were being sabotaged. One of the great-uncles, a distinguished High Court judge had detained Peter who, though desperate to get back to Leona’s side, was compelled to pay his respects.

It was a beautiful evening, the great coffered dome of the sky awesome with stars. Some of the guests had begun to step outside for a breath of garden-fragrant air and to cool the overflow of emotions induced by Jinty’s scintillating performance. Turning her head, Leona just chanced to see Jinty quietly remove her diamond pendant earrings—which must have been quite heavy—and slip them into a Limoges ormolu mounted covered bowl, one of a collection on a small circular table that was supported by two gilded swans, their long elegant necks bent.

Now that was careless. Reckless, even. It would be a disaster if any part of the suite went missing. Clearly Jinty trusted everyone, guests and servants alike. Not that Leona didn’t, but still … She couldn’t in a million years have done it, was amazed that Jinty had. She couldn’t begin to imagine Rupert’s wrath if the earrings disappeared. Not that anyone foolish enough to attempt such a criminal act could hope to sell them on the open market. In their own way, the “Blanchard Diamonds” were famous.