Peter said, slowly, ‘Yes.’ But he found himself looking at the diamond, and the way it sparkled, and he was suddenly reluctant to lose it. Garth Steinman recognised the expression on his face, however, and heartily grasped his shoulder. ‘You will never get a better price, old fellow. And, believe me, diamonds are better off in the hands of those who can really afford them. To everyone else, they bring nothing but grief and despair.’

‘Sehr philosophisch,’ smiled Herr Ballin.

Peter took the diamond in his hand one last time. It meant so much more than Herr Ballin or Garth Steinman could ever understand. It was the crystallisation of the love between his mother and his father, the last adamant reminder of the passion that had created him, and of private fears and ambitions that he could only guess at.

‘Very well,’ he said, at last, and laid the diamond down again. He shook hands with Herr Ballin, and with Garth Steinman, and left the house quickly, without saying another word.

Later that day, he stood by the Thames at Chelsea embankment, as the sun sank behind the cluttered rooftops of World’s End. He tossed pennies into the river because now he could afford to; and each penny that splashed into the water created for one split second a sun-glittered diamond of its own.

He had never felt so lonely in his life.

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