The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [136]
She had hurried home and pulled the old valise from under her bed, taking out the contents and looking at them one by one, remembering Sofia prising the diamonds from the tiara with a hatpin and then selling them on the streets of Constantinople. The three huge remaining diamonds glittered under the light and the fourth that Zev had given back to her when she had repaid her debt was still wrapped in a scrap of velvet. She knew he was right. No one would believe they were honestly hers if she tried to sell them.
She looked at Misha’s dear face, remembering every line, every glance from his gray eyes, every light touch of his hand, wondering why, when she was awake, he seemed like a dream. Only in her dreams did he seem real. The five-plumed diamond brooch lay on the bottom of the valise. She traced it again with her finger, remembering the night he had given it to her. It was her most precious possession. She stared at it for a long time, thinking of what to do. In the end she knew she had no choice. The brooch was an insignificant piece of jewelry compared with the valuable diamonds; she could easily make up a story that it was a gift sent to her by an unknown admirer. It was common knowledge that showgirls were often given expensive jewelry, and she had seen them showing off their diamond trophies collected from admirers, known and unknown. And anyhow, so much time had passed since the revolution and the Ivanoff murders. Surely no one would be interested now?
She debated the risk all that night, recalling that Cartier was lending Ziegfeld the diamonds she was to wear onstage. Then early the next morning before she could change her mind, she dressed carefully in Elise’s cream suit, making up her face and choosing a flamboyantly feathered hat that looked sufficiently “showgirl.” And then she called a taxi and told the cab driver to take her to Fifth Avenue.
She browsed nonchalantly along the velvet-lined glass cases in Carrier’s hallowed gray halls, stopping to admire a diamond bauble here, a rope of pearls there as if she had not a care in the world other than choosing something delicious with which to adorn herself.
“Madame?” A pin-striped tail-coated gentleman smiled at her inquiringly. “Can I be of help?”
She smiled at him disarmingly. “I am Verity Byron. Mr. Ziegfeld informed me that you would be sending over some diamonds for me to wear in his next show. I wondered if I might see them first.” She added doubtfully, “Perhaps I should have brought Madame Elise along to help? But no, I think with your good taste they are probably perfect. I would just like to add my approval before the final decisions are taken.”
“But of course, Miss Byron, and it’s a great pleasure to meet you.” She adjusted her hat lower over her eyes, bestowing yet another sparkling smile on him, and he gazed at her admiringly. “May I say that you are every bit as lovely as your photographs,” he said reverently, “and that Cartier are honored to be of service.”
She sat on a little Louis Quinze chair, nervously drumming her cream-gloved fingers on the glass counter as he retreated to the safe in the back, emerging a few minutes later bearing half a dozen suede boxes.
He lined them up on the counter in front of her, opening them with a flourish and showing her the diamond necklaces and bracelets and enormous drop earrings that she knew Anouska would have adored.
“Please try them on,” he urged. “If the necklace does not sit properly, just above the collarbone, then we can adjust it. And Madame has such slender wrists, I think the bracelets too must be altered. And how does Madame like this new design? The very latest snake bracelets from our Paris workshops?”
“Magnificent,” she said, admiring herself in the mirror. “It makes my own little commission seem … well, trifling.”
“And what is that, Madame?” he asked, eager to please.
She hesitated a second and then said, “I have a little souvenir, a present from an unknown admirer….” She shrugged. “You know the way things are in the theater. It