Seb took a little more time considering the slightly larger stones that shone up at him, but once again rejected them.

“Are you sure you can afford this girl?” asked the jeweller, as he removed the third tray from the top.

Seb’s eyes lit up the moment he saw a sapphire surrounded by a cluster of tiny diamonds that rested in the center of the black velvet cloth.

“That one,” he said without hesitation.

Gard picked up a loupe from his desk and studied the ring more closely. “This beautiful sapphire came from Ceylon, and is one point five carats. The cluster of eight diamonds are all point zero five of a carat, and were recently purchased from India.”

“How much?”

Gard didn’t reply for some time. “I have a feeling you’re going to be a long-term customer,” he finally said, “so I’m tempted to let you have this magnificent ring at an introductory price. Shall we say one hundred pounds?”

“You can say anything you like, but I don’t have a hundred pounds.”

“Look upon it as an investment.”

“For whom?”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Gard, returning to his desk and opening a large ledger. He turned over several pages, then ran a forefinger down a list of figures. “To show how confident I am that you’ll be a future customer, I’ll let you have the ring for the price I paid for it. Sixty pounds.”

“We’ll have to go back to the bottom shelf,” said Seb reluctantly.

Gard threw his arms in the air. “How can a poor man hope to make a profit when he has to bargain with someone as sharp as you? My lowest possible offer is,” he paused, “fifty pounds.”

“But I only have about thirty pounds in my bank account.”

Gard considered this for a few moments. “Then let us agree on a ten-pound deposit and five pounds a month for one year.”

“But that takes it back up to seventy pounds!”

“Eleven months.”

“Ten.”

“You have a deal, young man. The first of many, I hope,” he added, as he shook Seb’s hand.

Seb wrote out a check for ten pounds, while Mr. Gard selected a small red leather box in which to place the ring.

“Pleasure to do business with you, Mr. Clifton.”

“One question, Mr. Gard. When do I get to see the top shelf?”

“Not until you’re chairman of the bank.”

8

ON THE DAY BEFORE Harry flew to Moscow, Michael Stewart, the British foreign secretary, summoned the Russian ambassador to his office in Whitehall and, on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government, protested in the strongest possible terms about the disgraceful treatment of Anatoly Babakov. He went as far as to suggest that Babakov be released from prison, and the ban on his book lifted immediately.

Mr. Stewart’s subsequent statement to the press made the front pages of every broadsheet in the country, with supportive leaders in the Times and the Guardian, both of which mentioned the campaign mounted by the popular author, Harry Clifton.