The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [1]
Her lips curled in revulsion as she sat opposite him. His features were porcine. The small eyes, lost in their folds of flesh, rippled over her like sunken gray pebbles. His accent was guttural and his tone rough as he said to her, “I already told you: You are wasting your time.”
She pulled a small twist of black tissue paper from the folds of bright Thai silk in the bag she was carrying and held it out to him. “I think not, Mr. Abyss,” she replied, watching as he unwrapped it quickly, noting his sharp intake of breath as he saw what it contained.
He shot a speculative glance in her direction, then pulled the high-intensity lamp closer. Holding the jeweler’s loupe to his right eye, he turned the gem in his fat, hairy fingers like a spider clutching a pretty butterfly. After a few minutes he removed the loupe and placed the stone on the square of black velvet in front of him. He leaned back in his battered leather armchair, folding his hands across his immense stomach. Her blue, almond-shaped eyes met his in the silence.
Finally he spoke. “There is only one emerald of this size and quality anywhere in the world. And that has been missing for more than seventy years. May I ask how it came into your possession?”
She shrugged. “You may not. Let us just say I am not working alone. My partners are very interested in your decision.”
Silence fell again as he surveyed first her and then the giant emerald lying between them.
“This is an exquisitely cut stone,” he said at last. “There is nothing I can do to improve on the artistry of the original cutter. So? What exactly do you want from me?”
Leaning forward, she touched the stone with a long red-enameled nail and said, “I want you to cut it into two equal pieces. Two emeralds instead of one.”
She thought she saw a glimpse of something like emotion in his leaden eyes: She had caught him off guard, touched a responsive chord in him somewhere.
“Cut a stone like this? Are you crazy?” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a small, stained glass. He lifted the bottle inquiringly and she shook her head, watching as he filled his glass to the brim and tossed it back. He refilled it quickly and this time she noticed that his hand trembled as he drained the glass. That tremor was the reason Abyss, the master gem cutter, now occupied a single room in a sleazy back street in Bangkok instead of the grand suite of offices in Paris that had been his twenty years ago. A gem cutter with an unsure hand was worthless. And yet there was no one else who could do what she asked. It was a risk that had been discussed at length and one they were prepared to take.
“I know this emerald,” he said, turning the gem again in his fat fingers. “It has not been seen in Europe since the great tiara was sent to Cartier in Paris for redesigning eighty years ago. An emerald of ninety carats, of such perfection … it is unique.”
“Exactly. It is unique and therefore easily identifiable. We are asking you to give us two emeralds, Mr. Abyss, so that it will be impossible for it to be identified positively. And yet the value of each stone will still be in the millions.”
A flicker of greed darted through his pebble eyes. He turned the stone this way and that under the light, examining it intently through the magnifying loupe.
She watched, tense as a coiled spring. It meant a lot to her; she was there because he was still the best in the world, the only one who could do the job. “We will pay well,” she said softly. “Seven percent.”
Their eyes met. “I can guarantee nothing,” he told her. “You are aware that emeralds are the most fragile of all the stones. One tap and this valuable jewel might be just crumbs for cheap rings. And after all, the emerald as a whole is worth far more than two halves would ever be.”
She smoothed back her already smooth hair, dabbing with a tissue at the rim of sweat along her hairline. There was