Stupid Rupert.

Yes, that's the one.. you remember him, surely? The guy who was all
over the papers a month or so ago? Of course you do! All the red-tops
laid into him without mercy, which is as you'd expect. Well, he was a
natural target, wasn't he? Rupert Lovell, tenth Earl of Blethwick in
the County of Northumberland, otherwise universally lampooned as
"Stupid Rupert, the toff who lost the family jewels. Ooh,
painful!"

The man himself maintained a dignified silence - at least in public.
Then again, I know the inside story: in private, things were very
different. I've known the man since school, and I've never found him
anything but charming. I've been privy to his innermost secrets, being
his accountant, and I can tell you now that he's not recognisable as
the "nice-but-dim" character that the press have concocted. Still,
maybe that image has done him no harm.

So, what really happened to the Jallahpur Rubies? Well.. as it's you, I
suppose there's no harm in spilling the beans. Just don't pass it on,
right?

*****

Maybe Rupert's "crime" - that of being responsible for the loss of the
Jallahpur Rubies - isn't so terrible, not in global terms. No-one was
hurt, except for the excruciating pain in the wallet suffered by the
National Mercantile Insurance Company, and few outside Mercantile House
shed anything but crocodile tears for them. No, the only real loss was
to Britain's national heritage; and in many people's eyes the rubies
shouldn't, rightfully, have even been in this country.

As is now widely known, the stones and their fabulous setting had been
in the family since shortly after the Indian Mutiny. The fifth Earl,
Sir Robert Lovell, was a distinguished soldier and colonial
administrator who'd been responsible for the ruthless, efficient
pacification of the former State of Jallahpur. The grateful Nizam,
newly-installed by the British in place of his uncle precisely because
he was known to be pliable (and bone idle), had presented the ancient
bracelet to his new protector as a mark of respect.

That, of course, was the official bowdlerised story, but contemporary
rumour had hinted at a certain degree of arm-twisting on Lovell's part.
Bolder souls had even alleged that Sir Robert had first noticed and
coveted the fabulous gems while being "entertained" in the Nizam's
harem: they'd certainly come into his possession while the mem'sahib
had been sheltering from the blistering plains heat in Simla. What she
thought of the deal has thankfully not been recorded.

The superb set, which had indeed adorned the slender wrist of the
Nizam's current most favoured concubine for centuries, soon left India
for good. It had remained in the Lovell family ever since, occasionally
displayed to the public, though Rupert's grandfather had only narrowly
missed losing the gems in lieu of death duties after his own profligate
father died unexpectedly - and most embarrassingly - from his exertions
in a Parisian bawdy-house. In the event, the Adam-designed family home
had passed to the fledgling National Trust: the Lovells, putting on a
brave face, had upped sticks and moved out into the lodge. This had
meant swapping seventeen mostly unused bedrooms for six, but at least
the maintenance was affordable, the enormous grounds were taken care of
by the NT's experts and the gawping proles were kept at a respectful
distance.

Rupert himself, unkindly (and not quite accurately) described by his
own mother (the formidable Lady Nancy) as "hardly the brightest jewel
in one's tiara", gained his reputation for mental stodginess at
Wellington, though he got into Oriel easily enough. From there, it was
a natural progression for someone with his excellent connections and
presumed mental limitations into one of the City's leading shipping
agencies. Affable and gregarious, Rupert had done well - perhaps better
than anyone had expected - and he lived in some style in an impressive
Docklands conversion.

The rubies - occasionally known as the Lovell Rubies in a hopeful
attempt to disguise their shaky provenance - passed to Rupert on his
father's death, much to his mother's disgust. Rupert had seldom gone
short of female company, but the publicity value of the glittering
bracelet soon widened his social circle even further. Lady Nancy
bombarded her son with requests to settle down with some well-bred
young thing and produce the next generation, but such a lifestyle
didn't appeal when giggly young stunners with horsy accents were
virtually queuing up outside his apartment.

There had been a succession of partners, each photographed wearing the
bracelet in some lush location: media parties, first nights at
galleries, the trendiest and most exclusive restaurants. For anyone
hoping to break into the glittering world of TV or public relations,
getting your features splashed across the tabloids flashing the
Jallahpur Rubies was an excellent career move, and Rupert's toothy grin
probably featured in the background of a hundred press shots within two
years.

This rapid turnover ended, however, when Rupert literally bumped into
Fiona McCready at yet another alcohol-soaked book launch. To a man
who'd grown used to women throwing themselves at him, promising
ever-wilder delights, Fiona came as a refreshing change. A shapely,
witty Cambridge graduate with flaming red hair and a pronounced Ulster
accent, she affected to neither know nor care who Rupert was. Her very
failure to make herself available on the spot came as a shock, and
Rupert soon found himself in the scarcely believable position of
actually having to chase a woman. For almost a week, Rupert bombarded
her with flowers and invitations. (Or, to be honest, his loyal and
hardworking PA did.)

Fiona eventually relented, and agreed to meet him at an unfashionable
restaurant where they could talk undisturbed by the constant popping of
the inquisitive papparazzi's cameras. For Rupert, the evening was a
revelation - here was someone who seemed utterly unconcerned about his
background, his position, even his precious bracelet. She'd heard of
it, of course, but only in the context of an academic treatise on the
fabulous treasures of British India. Rupert was hooked. Like everyone,
he yearned for what he hadn't got, what was difficult to obtain: a
challenge - and Fiona was most certainly a challenge.

Rupert had never worked so hard in his life, but his natural charm won
through and within the month Fiona was installed in his apartment. Lady
Nancy, who'd been informed of this scandalous behaviour by one of her
son's discarded "friends", did her damndest to dissuade her only son
from making an even bigger fool of himself that God had intended - and
failed. Rupert, for the first time in his adult life, was well and
truly besotted.

Fiona, for her part, was immediately sucked into Rupert's hectic social
whirlwind. The pair were snapped leaving nightclubs, waltzing into
parties, attending exclusive social functions. The bracelet was, of
course, seen frequently, and this unexpected display of fidelity on
Rupert's part was instantly seized upon by the gossipmongers and
parasites who grow fat on disseminating rumour and innuendo as evidence
that he'd finally been hooked and landed.

Had the press drones known or cared, however, the affair was developing
all too rapidly for Rupert's taste. He was unused to relationships
where he wasn't completely in control, and no-one - but no-one - lorded
it over Fiona, no matter what their status in the big world outside
might be. Rupert had "dated" many redheads, as indeed he'd distributed
his favours among all sorts of willing females, but he'd never stayed
with any one long enough to probe the ancient saying which correlates
that fiery colouring with a steely and abrasive temperament. Fiona's
readiness to talk back, her sharp wit and her readiness to stand her
ground come what may were soon all proving to be irritants.

Perhaps they both realised at much the same time that it wasn't going
to be the big thing for either of them, but Rupert insisted that Fiona
accompany him on that fateful, long-delayed trip to Italy to stay with
his old schoolchum, a scion of an ancient Italian aristocratic family.
He needed a partner who was witty, attractive and intelligent, and
Fiona was perfect. He suspected that things might turn sour after their
return to England, and only his timing proved to be incorrect.

The trip turned out to be a disaster from the beginning. Even before
departure, the National Mercantile insisted on loading the premium on
the rubies - as Rupert had insisted on taking them with him to display
in front of his hosts. They were duly inspected, in case of some
spurious damage caused-while-travelling claim, and handed grumpily back
with strict instructions on security.

The arguments began as soon as the couple were on the ferry. Rupert had
booked a sea crossing for the Discovery, as he detested tunnels,
without first asking about Fiona's notorious seasickness. By the time
they'd driven across to Umbria, the duel had begun in earnest. Fiona,
ever difficult to please, found Rupert's chums boorish and ignorant:
they, in turn, thought her ungrateful and downright unfeminine in her
insistence on having the last say. The couple left early and drove back
across the continent in a smouldering silence, stopping only in
Switzerland to complete a small business matter and drive over a few
mountains - an exercise which Fiona thought entirely pointless and most
probably designed to aggravate her travel sickness still further.

The simmering argument boiled over in spectacular fashion on the return
ferry trip. Feeling decidedly unwell, Fiona was unprepared for Rupert's
withering verbal assault, and she fought back in the most effective way
possible - by threatening to heave the Lovell's precious jewellery
overboard. Rupert laughed the threat off, but when Fiona snatched the
bracelet and fled for the rails, his mood changed.

To this day, and despite the massive amount of press speculation,
no-one is absolutely sure what happened next. While Fiona had certainly
threatened to fling the rubies into the Channel, she swore to the
police and National Mercantile that they had simply slipped from her
wrist. Several bystanders backed the story up, recounting to the TV
crews how they'd simply seen a young woman rush to the rails, looking
green, and lean over. The next they knew, the glittering bracelet was
spiralling down into the water.

Rupert went along with this story in public, to smooth the insurance
claim, though in private he erupted with an incandescent explosion
which few had even suspected him capable of. His mother outdid him,
calling him up to The Lodge to ask how he expected that a woman of that
sort (by which she meant "that class") could be trusted with the
now-lost family heirloom? Rupert had no answer, except to explain
sheepishly that the wretched Fiona had been summarily ejected from the
flat on their return and he never expected to see her again.

The broadsheets reported the loss as a heritage matter, the tabloids
saw it as "upper class twit gets what he deserves.." but Rupert took
little notice. The bracelet might have been valuable, but the cash
replacement came in far handier: for one thing, it enabled him to clear
his pressing and unpublicised gambling debts. Poor luckless Fiona, so
far ahead of him academically, had unwittingly played her part to
perfection without even knowing it, enabling him to carry out his
well-laid plan ahead of schedule.

The fabulous Jallahpur Rubies were indeed lost - but, oddly enough,
they weren't settling into the impenetrable Channel silt as almost
everyone believed. No, they were safely salted away in the private
vaults of the secretive German publishing and internet
multi-millionaire who'd tentatively contacted Rupert some months before
with a view to buying the bracelet.

The redoubtable Lady Nancy would never have countenanced any such sale,
of course, and her heir's loss of The Lodge and the plentiful remaining
family valuables would have rendered the entire trade pointless. With
the massive insurance settlement safely banked, however, Klaus's
clandestine payment neatly tucked away in an invisible private account
in Zurich and the expertly-crafted replica that Klaus had provided as
part of the deal safely hidden from prying eyes at the bottom of the
Channel, Rupert can safely relax, check his swollen Swiss bank balances
and contemplate a comfortable, commitment-free future.

Stupid Rupert? I don't think so.. do you?