Diamonds Are Not Forever

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Juliette 

When I got through the front door of the house, I knew instantly something was amiss.
Milo's school bag was thrown on the console, the contents - his schoolbooks and homework - peeking out of the top untouched.
He hadn't gone to school that day, which was never a good sign.
I found my mother on the sofa in the living room, a cup of coffee in one hand and her head rested in the other. She only looked up when she heard the front door click closed behind me. It was early afternoon and she wasn't at work, also another bad sign.
"Hello sweetie, why are you home so early?"
Her eyes were red rimmed, she offered me a weak smile as I took a seat next to her and removed the cup from her hand – carefully placing it on the coffee table in front of us.
"I'm not feeling well. How come you're not at work? Where's Milo?" My questions came out in a jumble all at once, I was mostly recovered after I threw up then got a taxi home, but fresh fear spiked through me as I waited for my mum to answer my barrage of questions.
"I took the day off, Milo is having a low day today. He's in bed." My mother reached up and brushed my hair out of my face, like she used to do when I was little, her eyes brimming with a number of different emotions. Mainly fear and defeat.
I knew she was always in a constant battle with herself, on days when Milo was too ill to leave his bed. Because she knew she needed to work, to pay the bills, but she also knew she had to be by her son's side when he was sick. Either way, she always came out losing.
I got up on my feet again and planted a chaste kiss on the top of my mum's head. "I'll go check on him."

After grabbing a bowl of cold water and a flannel, I walked into Milo's bedroom. The room smelt like illness, musty with a faint hint of vomit covered with zesty lemon – my mum's room spray trying to mask the scent. It made me want to gag, but I pushed down the feeling when I saw how frail my brother looked in his single bed. His quilt was pulled up to his chin, his eyes were closed as he snored softly. It always made him look so young when I saw him sleeping, it reminded me how little he was.
Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, I reached out and felt his forehead. It was clammy but warm to the touch, the curls of his copper hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat. I placed the bowl on his bedside table and dipped the end of the flannel in the water; holding my free hand under it so it didn't drip over the bedspread – I brought the wet flannel to his forehead and held it in place. He stirred slightly under my touch, but he didn't fully wake.
Whenever we had the flu or a stomach bug, our father would always cool us down with a cold flannel as he sang to us.
My mum said I got my voice from him, though I don't know how true that was. I did know that it always soothed Milo as a baby when he sang. He would mostly sing Billy Joel songs, he said he was a musical genius, his absolute favourite song was Vienna.
I started to sing it under my breath, that very same song I'd heard from my father's lips so many times before.
It was times like this that I wished he was still with me. Because he would know the exact right thing to say, and he would know exactly what to do.
But he wasn't there. He hadn't been for some time.
Milo let out a deep sigh in his sleep, then turned on his side so he was facing me. Careful not to wake him, I removed the flannel and checked his temperature with the back of my hand. His forehead was wet from the flannel, but he had cooled down considerably.
I stayed there for a few more minutes, watching him sleep as I stroked his head and finished the song for him.
When I was finished, I whispered a plea out into the stillness of the room. "Tell me what to do dad, please."
I paused.
Nothing.
Bending down, I brushed my lips against my brother's temple then rose from the bed. I left the bowl behind and just kept walking, out the door and through the hall, past the bathroom, until I reached the stepladder up to my bedroom in the attic.
I'd climbed the steps before I even knew I was doing it, my muscle memory kicking in as I threw myself on my bed – face down into my pillow.
It was then that I let my tears fall, and my god did they fall hard.


I was leant over the work bench, my glasses perched low on the bridge of my nose, as I inspected the gems in Teddy's palm. We'd received our first shipment of moissanite stones in the various shapes and sizes I needed to complete the Gala necklace, they glistened perfectly in the overhead light of the room.
"You sure you don't want diamonds?" Teddy questioned as I picked up one of the oval shaped gems and looked at it through my loupe.
"Positive. Moissanite sparkles more, plus its more ethically sourced."
Teddy started talking me though his methods for construction when a message came through on his phone, I tried not to pry, but I couldn't help notice the message was from Millie – Elliot and Frankie's cousin.
Teddy placed the gold wire in his hand down and picked up his phone from the desk, he quickly ready the message then looked up at me. "Millie wants to confirm we're still going to the gallery tonight?"
Teddy and Millie had been chatting quite frequently, it seemed. I was happy for Teddy, he deserved to find a girl like Millie - that actually seemed nice. His last girlfriend was horrid.
"Of course." I smiled, leaving his side and wheeling my desk chair to the filing cabinet so I could look through my recent redesign orders. "I'm not a huge fan of abstract art, but I'm looking forward to seeing Millie again, I'm sure her paintings will be great."
Teddy hummed his agreement and typed a reply on his phone, he was smiling like a goofball as another text came through. He had it bad, it was a pleasure to see.
"I was thinking we could go to the gallery straight after work. Its only a few streets away, we could probably even walk there."
He wasn't listening to me; he was still grinning at his phone as he typed. "Yeah sure, whatever you think." He replied, absentmindedly.
The rest of the day moved by pretty fast, after we debated which fastening we thought would be the most secure to hold the weight of the necklace, and I came out victorious, it was only a matter of time before Carol was locking up the store and Teddy was handing me my coat.
"You ready to go?" Teddy smiled at me, giving Carol a sideways hug goodbye as he slipped his jacket on.
I nodded and put my own coat on, I was so glad I'd worn one of my nicer work outfits that day, I had a feeling the Gallery was going to be swanky. I figured my black rollneck jumper and houndstooth skirt would suffice, finished off with a pair of black suede boots I knew were going to kill my feet later. I'd even managed to tame my hair into submission in the form of a sleek looking French twist, leaving only my bangs to fall down at either side of my face.
Carol gave me a look of approval as we all headed out through the back door. "You look great Jewel, will Mr Handsome be there tonight?"
Teddy pretended to not hear Carol as he marched on in front of us. I hung back while Carol turned the key in the back door and punched the security code into the system.
I'd not told anyone about the last time Elliot and I saw each other, I was hoping he wouldn't be there, so I didn't have to confront the reality of the question he had asked me. But something told me he would be there.
"I'm not sure actually, maybe?"
"Well, I hope you have a great time. You can tell me all about it tomorrow."
We said our goodbyes and I linked arms with Teddy as we made our way out onto the street as the sun set in the distance.

When we turned the corner and The Arthouse came into view, I let go of Teddy's arm and strained my eyes to search the queue that was formed outside the doors. A man dressed all in black held a clipboard, ushering people in when he found their name on his list.
"Seems a bit overkill for an art exhibit, don't you think?" Teddy muttered under his breath as we joined the back of the queue.
I laughed in response, knowing these sorts of events were the bread and butter of the upper-class city folk, who just had to have bragging rights about being at these exclusive events. And if a Truman had something to do with it, you could guarantee it was going to be over the top.
The queue moved fairly quickly, when we reached the front, the guy with the clipboard ran his eyes down the length of us. Clearly, we didn't seem like the right kind of clientele.
"Names?" His lips were screwed up in distaste, probably because Teddy was wearing his clunky boots again.
"Theodore Green and Juliette St. James."
He ran the end of his pen down his list of names until they eventually reached ours. His eyes widened and his mouth sprung open, then suddenly he was all smiles.
"Mr Green, Miss St. James, my apologies. I wasn't aware you were part of the Truman party. Please, go straight in."
Teddy gave him a quick salute as we dipped inside, where a stunning blonde was waiting on the other side of the door to take out coats. Another stunning blonde, stood next to her, handed us both a glass of bubbling champagne.
"I could get used to this." Teddy chuckled, taking the glass and sipping on it straight away.
The Gallery was bustling, throngs of people chatting over the light music playing in the background as they wondered around the muted cream walls, filled with various paintings and photographs.
Another room filled with glamourous men and women. It was starting to become tedious.
Putting his hand on the small of my back, Teddy guided me towards the first set of paintings. "I wonder which ones are Millie's?"
Leaning down, I read the plaque under the painting in front of us, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. I wished I'd worn my contacts.
"Is this good?" He asked, taking another sip of champagne as he pointed at the canvas.
The painting was moody and dark, not my taste at all. "Art is subjective, I don't really know what is good and what is bad. I just know what I like."
"You don't like that one, I can tell."
We turned the corner, and the gallery opened up like a maze of free-standing walls and lights. "How can you tell?" I asked him over my shoulder as I bee lined for a set of pastel-coloured canvases in the far corner. Their brightness called to me like a moth to a flame.
"Because," Teddy quickened his step to catch up with me. "Your brow does this thing right here when you don't like something." He mimicked my look and pointed to the space between his eyebrows.
I giggled and copied him. "This look?"
"That's the one."
I looked back up at the paintings, they were a swirl of brightly coloured purple, pastel blues and dusty pinks. The paint was laid thick, making the painting spring to life with texture.
I could feel Teddy watching me carefully. "I can tell when you like something too."
I resisted the urge to reach out and touch the canvas where the paint rippled, something I knew would be frowned upon, as I regarded him casually. "Oh yeah?"
He didn't say anything, so I turned to him. Teddy was looking at me wistfully, his features soft on his face.
"Your eyes, they soften right here."
He reached out to touch the outer corner of my eye, a few centimeters from my cheekbone, just as I spotted Millie over his shoulder. "Oh look, there's Millie!" I interrupted him.
Dropping his hand, he turned to follow my gaze.
Millie was wearing a stone-coloured skirt and matching blazer, her dark brown hair scraped into a high ponytail ; she looked as perfect as the last time we saw her at the bar. When she spotted me waving, she excused herself from her conversation and rushed over to us.
"You both made it!" She threw herself at me, nearly knocking my glass out of my hand as she kissed me on both cheeks as greeting. "Thank you both so much for coming."
When she was done with me, she turned and smiled up at Teddy, a shy smile that seemed reserved just for him. Teddy leaned down and kissed her cheek sweetly.
"Thank you for inviting us." He beamed.
Millie gestured to the two large canvases I had been admiring on the wall in front of us. "I see you found one of my pieces, what do you think?"
"This is yours?" I couldn't keep the astonishment from my voice. Millie nodded proudly, flashing me a perfect pearly smile.
"I love it, the colours are amazing."
"What do you think Teddy?" She batted her eyelashes at him, waiting expectantly for his answer.
I knew Teddy hadn't paid the piece of art in front of us much mind, but he nodded, not moving his eyes from her for a second. "Its great. The best I've seen so far."
Millie giggled and clapped her hands together excitedly. "I have to show you the rest!" She exclaimed, grabbing Teddy's hand, and dragging him behind her. "You coming Jewel?"
I took a glug of my champagne and shook my head at her. "Not yet, I'm going to look at this one some more. I'll catch you both up."
I knew it would do them both some good, spending some alone time together without me as a third wheel.
When they were out of sight, I took a larger drink of the expensive champagne and read the plaque under the two paintings of Millie's.

Hasting Hills – By Millicent Truman
Price £7,000

7 grand for two paintings? I nearly choked on my drink.
They were beautiful, but so far beyond anything I could dream of owning with that price tag.
I wondered what her inspiration was, abstract art wasn't obvious like that. When someone painted a tree, you'd look at it and be like 'that's a tree'. But with abstract, you had to really think, to try and find the answer behind every stroke. And after all the pondering, you could still get the answer wrong. But it didn't really matter, because the answer could be exactly what you wanted it to be – because it made you feel something different to what it could make someone else feel looking at it.
These paintings made me think of summers by a lake, just as the sun was setting over the water and the sky turned that perfect palette of muted purple and pink as night drew in.
I made a mental note to ask Millie what her inspiration was, just to see if I was right.
Suddenly, someone cleared their throat next to me, and I instantly knew who it was. "They're not my taste, but they're alright."
Elliot was dressed in a smart button-down navy shirt and black jeans; his hair gelled back out of his face in a slick hair-do. I noticed he'd shaved, I kind of liked the stubble he had before, but he still looked breathtakingly handsome.
He gave me a cautious smile as I looked him up and down, why did he have to be so good looking?
Finally, I found my voice. "Really? I'm a fan, I think the colours she's used are amazing."
He considered my words, looking back up at the paintings. It meant  I could get a few uninterrupted seconds to view his side profile, of course he looked great from the side too.
"They're too flowery for me." Elliot mused.
I idly thought about the painting we had seen when we arrived, the canvas coated in reds, blacks, and greys – I bet that was more his style. Dark and moody.
We didn't say anything to one another for a really long time, just stared at the piece of art in silence as we drank our champagne. Elliot broke the silence first, taking my empty glass from my hand when I was done with it, placing it on a passing waiter's tray, then grabbing two more full glasses.
"I don't mean to push you, but I was wondering if you had considered my business proposal some more?" He seemed reluctant to ask as he handed me my glass, but I knew he was dying for my answer.
The truth was, it was all I had been thinking about since the day he had asked me to marry him. Especially after Milo's recent low days, I needed a distraction. I'd gone around in circles in my mind, weighing up every possible outcome and every pro and con of taking the money from him.
Pros: I could afford Milo's treatment. I could make sure my family never had to struggle and live comfortably.
Cons: I'd be married to someone who had used me. I'd be married to someone I didn't love. 
I'd come to my answer eventually, I just didn't know how to tell him to his face now that I found myself in front of him again.
"I have." I turned on my heels and started making my way towards some of the black and white photography I'd spotted, he was quick to catch up with me.
"And?" He prompted, falling in step with me as he dodged an elderly woman who almost collided with his side. She silently cursed him as he disregarded her and we came to a stop.
I looked up at Elliot, my mouth open to respond to him, when I caught his distracted gaze pointing towards the other side of the room.
His mouth was set in a grim line and his brow furrowed in thought. I followed his line of sight, where I found his mother at the end of it – dressed in an elegant cream dress and gold shawl draped over her shoulder and around her neck. She was chatting politely with an incredibly tall and incredibly stunning young woman; she towered over Elliot's mum in her black stiletto shoes. The mystery woman was one of those model types, the kind you saw on the cover of Vogue. She was dressed in a barely there black dress that matched her sharp raven bob, cut sharply at her pointy chin. Even from far away, her eyes pierced a light blue I'd never seen before, they were even lighter than Elliot's.
Elliot muttered something under his breath, then set off steam rolling towards them. I followed him, because it felt like the natural thing to do, and I was a little curious about what had pulled him away from wanting to know my answer.