The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [261]
Gerald left the banquet early that evening, determined to do something about the Order of the Peacock before it was Walter’s turn to be mayor.
None of Gerald’s friends would have described him as an extravagant man, and even his wife was surprised at the whim of vanity that was to follow: At nine o’clock the next morning Gerald rang his office to say he would not be in to work that day. He then traveled by train to London, to visit Bond Street in general and a famed jeweler in particular.
The door of the Bond Street shop was opened for Gerald by a sergeant from the Corps of Commissionaires. Once he had stepped inside Gerald explained his problem to the tall, thin gentleman in a black suit who had come forward to welcome him. He was then led to a circular glass counter in the middle of the shop floor.
“Our Mr. Pullinger will be with you in a moment,” he was assured. Moments later Asprey’s fine-gems expert arrived and happily agreed to Gerald’s request to value the Order of the Peacock (Third Class). Mr Pullinger placed the chain on a black velvet cushion before closely studying the stones through a small eyeglass.
After a cursory glance he frowned with the disappointment of a man who has won third prize at a shooting range on Blackpool Pier.
“So, what’s it worth?” asked Gerald bluntly after several minutes had elapsed.
“Hard to put a value on something so intricately”—Pullinger hesitated—“unusual.”
“The stones are glass and the gold’s brass, that’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it, lad?”
Mr. Pullinger gave a look that indicated that he could not have put it more succinctly himself.
“You might possibly be able to get a few hundred pounds from someone who collects such objects, but …”
“Oh, no,” said Gerald, quite offended. “I have no interest in selling it. My purpose in coming up to London was to find out if you can copy it.”
“Copy it?” said the expert in disbelief.
“Aye,” said Gerald. “First, I want every stone to be the correct gem according to its color. Second, I expect a setting that would impress a duchess. And third, I require the finest craftsman put to work on it in nothing less than eighteen-carat gold.”
The expert from Asprey’s, despite years of dealing with Arab clients, was unable to conceal his surprise.
“It would not be cheap,” he uttered sotto voce: The word “cheap” was one of which Asprey’s clearly disapproved.
“I never doubted that for one moment,” said Gerald. “But you must understand that this is a once-in-a-lifetime honor for me. Now, when could I hope to have an estimate?”
“A month, six weeks at the most,” replied the expert.
Gerald left the plush carpet of Asprey’s for the sewers of Nigeria. When, a little over a month later, he flew back to London, he traveled in to the West End for his second meeting with Mr. Pullinger.
The jeweler had not forgotten Gerald Haskins and his strange request, and he quickly produced from his order book a neatly folded piece of paper. Gerald unfolded it and read the tender slowly. Requirement for customer’s request: twelve diamonds, seven amethysts, three rubies, and a sapphire, all to be of the most perfect color and of the highest quality. A peacock to be sculpted in ivory and painted by a craftsman. The entire chain then to be molded in the finest eighteen-carat gold. The bottom line read: “Two hundred and eleven thousand pounds—exclusive of VAT.”
Gerald, who would have thought nothing of haggling over an estimate of a few thousand pounds for roofing material or the rental of heavy equipment, or even a schedule of payments, simply asked, “When will I be able to collect it?”
“One could not be certain how long it might take to put together such a fine piece,” said Mr Pullinger. “Finding stones of a perfect match and color will, I fear, take a little time.” He paused. “I am also hoping that our senior craftsman will be free to work on this particular commission. He has been rather taken up lately with gifts for the queen’s forthcoming