PRIMULA BOND

The Diamond Ring

An extract from The Diamond Ring by Primula Bond

A fertile or green spot in a desert or wasteland, made so by the presence of water.
I glance up from my guide book. Wasteland is the word. The surroundings havent
altered in aspect since we left the airport nearly an hour ago. I expected to land in an alien,
hot, dusty world of tropical groves with bending palm trees, groups of pretty tiled buildings,
camels, donkeys and waving children, with the burnished walls and towers of Marrakesh
dominating like a blockbuster backdrop.
But when I pointed excitedly at what I was certain was the famous minaret of the
Koutoubla Mosque rising to greet me over the flat topography, the taxi driver hawked up
phlegm along with a dry cackle, spat out of the window, jerked his thumb at the rise of the
majestic snow-topped Atlas mountains in the distance,and shouted, Another day, maybe.
Today we go south!
My fault for not doing the research, or even looking at a proper map. Polly did say she
was living in a retreat out in the desert, not a chic little riad in town. Even so, I gaze longingly
at the receding metropolis as we bump and rattle remorselessly along this straight, true road
between flat, sun-baked fields, dark-green olive groves punctuated by the odd lemon tree,
past building sites and ramshackle villages, until the ground starts to rise and with a resigned
crunch the old car is forced to change down a gear or two.
I know Polly wanted to get away from it all, but this is like being admitted to a
correctional facility. A high-security one at that.
The Kasbah Karma heaves into view. Its washed in lovely serene shades of umber
and pale pink, but its still a sturdy mud-brick fortress, standing by itself on its own hillock. It
could almost be a mini Marrakesh, I think hopefully, as the taxi stops and toots the horn
outside vast beaten-metal gates. They swing open with no apparent human intervention.
The car inches forwards into the middle of a hot, enclosed courtyard opened up by
arches leading to curving staircases and tiled corridors. The driver doesnt even kill the
engine. He just holds his hand out for the fare and as soon as I and my luggage are deposited
he reverses out into the barren countryside and is gone in a screech of tyres and choking dust.
There is total, utter silence in here apart from the faintest tinkle of bells, the
cacophony of hidden cicadas and the running plash of the stone fountain in the middle of the
courtyard. No one appears from the shadows to greet me. Perhaps theyre all sunbathing, or
cooking, or meditating, or praying, or whatever they do here.
The distance between me and Gustav is too far. Its warm, beautiful, peaceful here,
but this solitude envelopes me like a blanket. I am suddenly, ridiculously alone. Except that
somewhere, unless the taxi driver is having the last laugh, my cousin Polly is waiting for me.
The heat sings in my ears. I glance up into the burning blue of the sky and see the
faintest trace of an aeroplanes trail. Gustav and I are on different continents now. Not for
long, but weve got our own families to deal with before were back together again. Our own
pasts to knit together.
I dont want to trundle my little case noisily across these smooth tiles, so I pick it up,
glad that Gustav persuaded me to buy some light, floaty clothes suitable for a hot, Arab early
summer rather than a mild, Parisian late spring.
I stop in the shade of the first archway and look across a second courtyard. Theres an
open vista beyond of smooth green gardens, clusters of flowers and lemon, orange and
pomegranate trees, the tall, straight trunks of palms standing like guards around the lawns,
and beyond the grounds the now familiar stony glare of the mountains reminding us that we
humans are only as strong as the shelters we build.
The aroma of herbs and flowers and the piquancy of lemon grass and citrus fill the air.
Small mosaic pathways wind between the neat beds and lead up to a series of carved wooden
screen doors. These are set at intervals in the walls, which in this courtyard are washed a kind
of peppermint green. Some of the doors are closed. Some hinge open into a hidden interior of
dark violet shadows.
Siesta. That would explain the silence.
A white curtain billows from the furthest, widest doorway, and a woman draped in
dark red muslin steps out of the shadows into the burning sunlight. She is staring down at her
bare feet as she brushes her long, auburn hair. No, not auburn. Its the dark-red colour of the
French marigolds that Crystal grows in a window box outside the drawing room of the
Mayfair house. It even has blonde tips, just like the marigold petals. The sun catches the
smooth waves as it ripples over her arms, and then the woman throws her head back so that
her hair waterfalls down her back. Its even longer than mine. She taps the hairbrush
thoughtfully against her mouth as she glances towards the expanse of garden with its
handsome palms and what I can now see is a large swimming pool.
Then she turns in my direction. We stare at each other for a long moment. Her eyes
are set wide apart and are emerald green. Gustav says my eyes are emerald green, too.
Ahlan weh sahlan, her voice murmurs eventually through the silence.
I shake my head, not understanding. She spreads open her arms as if to embrace me.
Bienvenue. Welcome.
I feel like Ive seen her face before. The chiselled, high cheekbones and curving,
mournful jaw. Those green eyes, outlined in kohl so that she has the look of Queen Nefertiti.
The heavy eyebrows settling again now that shes greeted me. She could have stepped out of
a Pre-Raphaelite painting.
She still holds the hairbrush against her mouth like a microphone, as if shes about to
sing a song. Maybe thats it. I must have seen her in a magazine, or shes a film star. I tug
like a teenager at my T-shirt. Polly never said anything about this being rehab for celebs.
The lady gives a very slight smile, but doesnt come any closer. The red chiffon of her
gown drapes over her, clinging to her curvy figure and long legs. With her eyes still on me
she stretches her arm and points the hairbrush out towards the garden to show me thats
where I must go.
Thank you, I murmur, stepping awkwardly along the little path with my case. As I
draw level with her she produces a little jewelled glass from a low table behind and offers it
to me. Its citron press or some kind of cold sharp juice, and Im so thirsty I drain it.
Smiling, she takes the empty glass, and then my suitcase, and points the hairbrush once again
towards the garden, and before I can thank her she has retreated back into the shadows.
I see Polly before she sees me and my chest goes tight with love. Shes sitting cross-
legged on a flat turquoise cushion, wearing a loose primrose yellow sari and reading while
absently running her fingers through the water of the large pool. Shes filled out a little. Not a
scrap of make-up, but several pairs of silver earrings dangle from new piercings in her ears,
and her white blonde hair, cropped severely short in the winter when she was so unhappy, has
grown out to a choppy bob. She looks five years younger.
A situation or place preserved from surrounding unpleasantness. A refuge or haven.
Now I know the meaning of the word oasis.
* * *
I have to go to my meditation class in a moment, Polly murmurs a long time later, as we lie
side by side on the futon in her lemon-washed chamber. I stare up at the beamed and latticed
ceiling of eucalyptus where the long struts of a wooden fan stir the soupy air. Ive already
spoken longer than my allotted hour today.
Allotted? I stir sleepily and sit up on my elbows. We have spent all afternoon
catching up on three months worth of news. The doors are open onto the courtyard, and a
very slight breeze is stirring the curtains. Just across the courtyard I can see other figures
emerging from their own arched doorways and gliding out of sight. Who says?
Me. We can choose. There are no rules here. Just, like, guidelines. Suggestions. She
rolls away from me and stretches her long white limbs. And I mostly choose silence.
Im in a real live ashram. I wave two fingers in the air making a hippy peace sign.
Far out, sister!
OK, cynic. Think what you like. Im happy here. And youre lucky to be here, too.
She tweaks my hair and stands up. Now, come on. Ive cuddled you enough to know you are
for real and now I cant wait any longer. Come and see all this beautiful material Ive got for
your wedding dress. Look. Some panels of duchesse, georgette, some Chinese shantung, even
some chiffon. Ive got to hurry up and pin this on to you before Im summoned.
She pads across the beautiful tiled floor. The entire Kasbah was refurbished not long
ago and shes told me that all the floors are tiled with contemporary variations on the zellij
technique using pressed cement. Her floor is inlaid with cadmium yellow enamel chips. Polly
opens a carved wooden wardrobe, and takes out a hanger draped in white material.
Tell me more about this urge for silence, I say, sitting up stiffly. Isnt it a bit creepy
with no one speaking to you? I was certainly spooked when I arrived.
There is speaking, honey. Just not very much. Theres other ways of communicating,
as youll discover. I reckon the reason you felt peculiar was because you were displaced from
the big bad world and your big bad fianc. But youll soon find that once you enter this place
the silence isnt restrictive. Its liberating. Theres so much noise and hassle out there. She
takes my hand and pulls me in front of the long mirror. You can see why those Carmelite
nuns take that vow and retire from the world altogether. In fact, Angelique herself was going
to be a nun
Angelique? Is she ?
Our chief guru. Polly goes into hairdresser mode, lifting my hair away from my hot
forehead and twisting it into a Heidi plait to garland my head like a coronet. Youd think that
with nothing to do or say for hours on end all your thoughts would hammer away at your
head but they dont. The less air space you give them, the quicker they disperse.
You are sounding more tripped-out by the minute, I tease. I hold my arms out and
let her wander round me, pinning the currently shapeless piece of fabric to me and
transforming it into a garment. So youre saying all our normal worldly concerns cease to
matter?
Exactly. Apart from food, drink and love, what else do we need? Money, I suppose.
She pulls a couple of pins from the cushion on her wrist, and my waist reappears. Im
designing a few garments for some local boutiques, actually, but the ashram earns its shekels
by making and selling aromatherapy oils.
I groan. This isnt a drying-out clinic as well, is it?
Its a clinic where you learn to celebrate life at its most pleasurable! Right. Ill need
to get some sari material to lay over the lining, but then again it all depends on what kind of
wedding youre going to have. England, or tropics? Snow, or sunshine?
I lift my hand and turn it slowly. The diamond ring winks at me, tamed in this hushed,
dull light. We havent booked anywhere yet, but were thinking well have it at Halloween?
Not too long to wait. Polly stands back and looks at me. Church or beach?
It wouldnt feel right for me if it wasnt in a church. But do you know, I havent a
clue how Gustav would feel about that. I dont even know if hes Christian!
Probably pagan, knowing him! But Im surprised you havent discussed it. Polly
pins the fabric into a dart above my waist. Is that because hes been wed before?
Her words stab at my heart. Theres a brief, unwelcome reminder of the little chapel
in the mountains above Lake Lugano.
Whats the ashram theory about people who exist and shape our lives outside these
walls? I ask, trying to deflect the question, as Polly shapes the fabric around me to give me
uplifted breasts, swelling beneath a draped bodice. Do they cease to matter, too?
Only the horrible ones. The bullies and the bitches and the bastards. Polly leans her
pointed chin on my shoulder in the way she used to when we were kids, really sharp until I
stopped talking nonsense. Hush my mouth! Do you know it even feels sinful to say bad
words like that in here?
A gong sounds somewhere outside and theres a slip-slap of feet past the door.
My cousin stands back and surveys me, and I sashay in a circle for her.
Are you not allowed any sinful thoughts? I ask her as she reaches inside the
wardrobe again and pulls out a diaphanous roll of lacy chiffon. I mean, you know, no
naughtiness? No sex?
Polly smiles mysteriously and holds the chiffon across my breasts like a kind of
shawl. This place is all about cleanliness, Serena. Of body and mind.
No fun, in other words. Basically youre a bunch of nuns. I bite my lip and turn back
to the mirror. Now is not the time to mention anything about Pierre, for instance, and what he
tried to do to me, or how were cautiously making friends. No men, you said. What about the
mens visiting quarters?
There are no mens quarters. I was lying when I told you that on the phone! She
bursts out laughing. Your Gustav would have had to stay miles away in Marrakesh.
Seriously! This is a women-only haven. Not because we hate men, but because weve all
loved too much, like that self-help book. Every new recruit mentions heartbreak in their
introductory talk. Its mentioned, and then its gone, and we commence this new, female way
of life.
Will you stay here for ever?
I cant imagine any other existence for the moment. Polly pins the rest of my hair
into loose waves. Its such bliss shutting the door. And what I didnt expect is how absorbing
life is when its just girls. Its pretty intense at times. Some of us have become a little too
close. But mostly its easy, and fun, and you know what? I dont care if I never see a
thumping great hard-on ever again!
Her laughter is infectious. Youre bubbling over, Pol, yet youre so chilled at the
same time. But what about sex? You used to be up for it all the time! Dont you get frustrated
sometimes?
We let a few moments pass, our foreheads pressed together, just like when we were
kids, sharing all our secrets on the windy beach beneath the house on the cliffs.
Once or twice Ive its like the song, Rena. I kissed a girl. And I liked it! Polly
keeps her pale-blue eyes steady on mine, but her pixie face is slowly turning pink. Oh, its
not encouraged, but its not forbidden either. Theres intimacy during the massage and spa
sessions, and sometimes the touching goes further. And these Moroccan nights are very long,
and very hot! Maybe Angelique should pay a little more attention. This is a retreat, not a
convent, but maybe she should add a vow of chastity to our other promises of loyalty and
learning. Were here to purify ourselves, after all.
You sound like an irrigation system! I giggle. As if youre all arid fields, or
clogged-up plumbing!
A brilliant analogy! De-scaled, all our pipes shiny and clean again! She grins. Im
just content with the here and now. Its so peaceful without men. They push and prod and
penetrate, dont they? Whereas we have all come here actively seeking peace. The last thing
anyone wants is to break the harmony, and if they did they would be turfed out. Even so, if
Angelique thinks any of us are getting unhelpfully close to another girl she separates us for a
while.
Unhelpfully? Hmm. I let her wrap a different cut of fabric around my face like a veil
to test my colouring. I couldnt live without my man.
She tips her head on one side.
Gustav is the centre of your world, I know that. Soon hell be your husband. But
dont give me that innocent look, girlfriend. Ive a feeling youve tried it with a girl once or
twice. In that Venetian convent, I shouldnt wonder!
I shake my head, refusing to look at her now. Not with the nuns. But yes, Ive had
one or two, you know, encounters since Ive been in New York.
She fusses round behind me to pin the chiffon into my hair to make a bridal veil. She
turns me towards the mirror so she can tweak at it. Encounters? Does Gust I mean, does
anyone else know?
Gustav is always with me. He watches. Sometimes he joins in. He wanted me to
experiment, have adventures. Crikey, listen to me banging on. My skin prickles with
embarrassment. This place is like a confessional!
Youve always been able to tell me anything! She shakes my shoulders. So what
exactly has my little cousin been up to while Ive not been keeping an eye on her? Lesbians?
Threesomes?
I hold my arms out while she takes out some pins in the darts and seams and replaces
them. She pulls the dress in tight around my body so that I look like the kind of curvy
sculpture perfume makers might fashion a bottle out of.
I decide to keep to the subject of girls. Mentioning Pierres antics would not only be
hurtful, it would be pointless.
Both of the above! A couple of times. Well, three?
Polly has pins in her mouth now, and merely nods eagerly, turning my head to face
forwards.
There was this job when I was taking some pre-wedding shots of a supposedly
virginal bride, and it turned out she and her bridesmaid had been a couple for years. They
couldnt keep their hands off each other, then they dragged me into bed with them and one of
them deflowered me, too, with her fingers, and made me come.
Who would have thought it! Polly snuffles with laughter and takes the remaining pin
out of her mouth. And the next time?
Well, that was with some dancers from Pierres theatre. They ambushed me after
wed finished shooting the burlesque show and they used my camera to film the whole
seduction. I stop abruptly. Oh, God, Polly. I shouldnt mention men. Especially not him.
She eases the pin into the material, turns her back for a moment. I can tell by the way
she snatches a fig out of the fruit bowl that shes trying not to react.
I cant believe youve had all these experiences without telling me.
We werent exactly on speed dial at the time, and since March youve been
incommunicado, remember? I watch her biting into the dark pink flesh. And it wasnt
always very pretty. Do you think all this girlie experimentation is just some sort of crisis? Me
showing off?
I think its Serena Folkes stepping into the limelight, seeking attention after a life of
being forced into the shadows, with a man who is prepared to support everything she does.
Polly leaves the fig half eaten on the table. But its how youre going to fight off Margot that
interests me.
Well, Im trying. She owns this new place, the Sapphix Bar, and when I went along
willingly with some of her dancers it turned out she wanted to make me do something stupid
and degrading in front of her punters and in front of Gustav. But I brazened it out. We did a
shadow dance behind this curtain with some strap-on dildos.
Polly and I gape at each other in the mirror. The word dildo is all too graphic,
especially in a world where men, and their appendages, are not welcome.
So no need to be scared of her any more. You showed her that youre the beautiful,
spirited princess, and shes the wicked, bitter witch. So did that make her abandon her
vendetta or whatever it is?
I shake my head, pick up the abandoned fig, and bite into it.
Gustav seems to think so, but Pi weve been warned that shes dangerous. Obsessed
with getting rid of me. Since that first horrible meeting when she sent that feather to entice us
to the old apartment, shes still turning up uninvited, like Carabos at the christening. She
ruined the Weinmeyers private view. I even thought I found these red shoes, and I thought
shed been in our hotel room in Paris!
What? Sleeping with Gustav, behind your back? Polly shakes her head at my
reflection in the mirror. He would never he worships you!
I stare at that familiar face, so calm and content now compared with the unhappy,
mixed-up state she was in back in New York. This is the real Polly. When I was a child, stuck
in that house on the cliffs, she would arrive on one of her treasured visits and whisk me away
for a few days. I relied on those missions of mercy. I needed her to put me straight, tell me
how to cope, keep me safe.
I wipe fig juice off my chin. Even so. I think hes wrong. Shell never go quietly.
Not even now shes seen the diamond ring?
Especially now shes seen it! Its given her ammunition. In her sick mind shes
convinced Gustav will crawl back to her, but he loathes her. Even if he wasnt engaged to me,
he would be revolted by her. He says she looks nothing like she used to. I finish the fruit and
look around for somewhere to throw the peel. My theory is shes had some kind of work
done. Like those old-fashioned facelifts that are supposed to make you look younger, but just
make you look like a deaths head. Her mouth is all puffy, and her eyes are slanted like a cat.
So she doesnt have a snowballs chance in hell! Its about time you realised you
knock everyone else into a cocked hat! Polly steps back and surveys the drape of the fabric
on me. Youre strong enough and gorgeous enough to fight off any number of evil plots.
Youll be fine, Mrs Levi!
We both laugh.
Im dealing with it. One by one, I sort them out. Pierre was the worst, even without
Margots influence, but hes come to heel with his tail between his legs.
Like the dog he is. Polly turns away abruptly. Dont forget its because of him that I
had to remove myself.
Im sorry. But look where you ended up! The best place ever. You are positively
blossoming. If it wasnt for Gustav, honestly, I would happily give it all up and come to live
with you here. I put my hand on her arm. But let me just say one more thing about Pierre
and then Ill shut up. Hes genuinely sorry. About everything. There is a heart under all that
swagger. And Ive made him promise that one day he will apologise properly for the way he
treated you. Hes got pretty dark issues from his past, but hes also acknowledged that his
association with Margot could have proved fatal. For all of us.
Theres a long pause in the hot room, and total silence from the courtyards outside.
He should set up his own ashram. For dark, damaged men. But enough of him,
Rena. Polly presses a button on an iPod thats plugged into some speakers on a nearby
sideboard. A melancholy female singer, accompanied by equally despondent trumpets and
violins and drums, starts to sing in Arabic.
Wenta fein, weh hobi fein?
This is Om Koulsoum. Famous Egyptian singer. Shes saying where are you, and
where is my love?
Polly finishes pinning the fabric and starts making little dots and dashes all over me
with a marker pen. I stand rigid as a mannequin, terrified Ive offended her by mentioning
Pierre. But then she tries to draw a moustache on to me and we collapse into giggles.
Anyway, just wait for the Moroccan massage, honey! Youll forget all about the
slugs and snails and puppy dogs tails! she gurgles as I try to snatch the pen away from her.
And I was teasing you about being pure in body and spirit. We do have wine! Barrels of it.
Later on, well give you a tasting. We make our special vintage from the vines. Angelique
calls it La Religieuse, after her failed calling. I designed the label for her. Its a picture of a
cute little nun getting pissed in a vineyard.
I laugh. Angelique, Angelique. Her name is like the madame of an upmarket escort
agency! I reckon you all have a massive crush on her.
She slaps at me then spins me round in my column of white silk, and we are still
giggling helplessly when the curtains over Pollys doorway billow open and the lady herself
steps inside. She raises her fingertips to her mouth and gasps in admiration when she sees us
spinning in front of the mirror.
Angelique! Meet my cousin Serena!
Polly flies across and brings her over to where Im hovering awkwardly. Up close
Angelique is younger and even more arresting to look at. Her large eyes blink lazily as she
studies you. Her skin is kissed by the sun and even though she radiates a motherly warmth,
the smattering of freckles across her nose, similar to mine, give her a girlish quirkiness I
hadnt noticed earlier.
Her smile fades as she looks not at me but directly at my reflection in the mirror.
Helwa awi, habibti.
I blush and glance across at Polly, who translates. That means very beautiful.
Arabics my language of the day. Im your original hybrid, you see. French-born, ran
away to England for a while, briefly in Rome, but now Ive lived in North Africa for too
long. Angelique smiles and runs her hand over my hair. You may be a princess in that dress,
but we all have our tasks so Ive come to ask if youll help in the kitchen while youre staying
with us? She strokes my cheek and then glides out of the room again.
A velvety twilight has settled over the feminine gardens, and multi-coloured fairy
lights set on twigs and planted into the flowerbeds illuminate the pathways.
The romantic surroundings make me long for Gustav again. I try to devote a lingering
moment to him, but all other thoughts are gone. Evaporated. The energy has drained out of
me, and with it all the tension. I feel heavy, yet empty. Full, yet light as a feather.
Pol, what does habibti mean? I ask, as my cousin settles a primrose-yellow veil over
her hair and to my astonishment runs some clear lip gloss over her lips.
Youll have to watch out. The others might get jealous. Angelique must like you,
because shes never used that word for any of us. She winks at me. It means darling.


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