André Birron was very proud of Stephanie Jardine and of what she had become. He had watched her grow and change and develop; he had also watched over her for some twenty-odd years. She was like the daughter he and his wife Elise had never had, and his wife was just as fond of her as he was.
Stephanie had turned herself into a formidable businesswoman, and a jeweler par excellence. This gave him great pleasure and satisfaction, since she was his protégé in a sense.
But beyond her professionalism, there was something else, a uniqueness about her that made him feel all that much better for knowing her. Frequently, he had tried to define this particular quality in her, and had eventually come to the conclusion that it was the mixture of her integrity, decency, and genuine compassion that lifted her so high above others, made her so different. There was something fine in her that was very rare, and admirable.
André felt that at the core of her there was a repose, a calmness, and a certain kind of aloofness that had more to do with reserve than snobbery, and it was also this that set her apart.
There were times when he wondered about the lover Stephanie had taken when she was a young widow, the father of Chloe, wondered why the relationship had never flourished, gone forward, led to a permanent situation such as matrimony. He had constantly discouraged her from confiding the intimate details of her life in him or anyone else, and apparently she had always followed those guidelines he had given her so long ago.
No one knew a single thing about Stephanie Jardine’s private life other than what was obvious, which was there for all to see; not even her family had an inkling about what she did. If anything at all.
He assumed there must have been other boyfriends over the years, maybe even lovers, and yet he had never seen her with a man other than a business associate. In consequence, there was not one shred of gossip about her. That in itself was an accomplishment, he believed.
It suddenly struck him, and quite forcibly, that perhaps there was no gossip because there was nothing to gossip about. There was the strong possibility that her children, Jardine’s, and her career had been, and were, enough for her. Yet only part of him believed this. He was a Frenchman and a romantic, and therefore he could not envision life without love. And what a barren life that would be, and so very lonely. To be alone was not enviable. He shrank from the thought that Stephanie lived such a cold and isolated private life. Surely that could not be so? he asked himself, and discovered he had no answer. And he did not have the courage to ask her.
It took Stevie only a moment longer to examine the necklace before she glanced up at André and said in a confident voice, “It’s Belperron. No question in my mind about that. She made it anywhere between 1935 and 1938, I’d say. Yes, André, only Belperron herself could have designed this—” Very abruptly Stevie cut herself off, looked at him intently, and exclaimed, “You know, we’ve seen something very similar, you and I. In 1987, at the Sotheby’s sale of the Duchess of Windsor’s jewels in Geneva. Don’t you remember, there was a necklace of hers that was rather like this one? One could say it was the sister to this. I certainly raved enough about it at the time, so I’m sure you couldn’t possibly have forgotten.”
“I do recall the occasion. And your enthusiasm.” He smiled at her warmly. “That is one of the special things about you, ma chérie. You are not jaded. And when I saw this necklace a few weeks ago, I realized that you would be the one to truly appreciate its beauty. Do you not recall that when we were in Geneva for the Windsor sale, I told you that the duchess had been a frequent visitor to the Herz-Belperron shop in the rue de Châteaudun in Paris in the thirties?”
“Yes, I do remember.”
“It was apparent to me in Geneva that the necklace at the auction was a Belperron piece, even though it was listed as ‘probably Belperron.’ Unfortunately, that is the problem with an unsigned item; it can only ever be listed as probably. But it was real. It had to be. The duchess wore a great many of Suzanne’s creations. The one you are now holding is of the same style, quality, and period, do you not think so?”
She nodded. “Where did you find it?”
“The owner is a very well known Frenchwoman, from le gratin, the upper crust, in Paris. She inherited it from her mother, who inherited it from her mother. She insists it is Belperron, not a fake, not a copy from the thirties.”
“We are all in agreement,” Stevie murmured. “But surely Belperron would have made earrings to match.”
“Voila! My clever one! You know your designers well.” He laughed.
“Thanks to you,” she said, smiling back at him.
“These are the ear clips that complete the set.” He took them out of a pouch and placed them on a table in front of her.
Reaching for the earrings, Stevie held them in the palm of her hand and examined them carefully. They were made of the same stained blue chalcedony, each one designed as a small leaf and set with a tapered band of diamonds and surmounted by a cluster of cabochon sapphires and diamonds.
“They’re exquisite, and the set is perfect. I have just the right client, an elegant woman who collects thirties jewelry. I am sure she will be interested. She’s in London though, not New York.”
“That does not present any problem, as you are well aware. When I return to Paris this weekend, I will have the jewelry sent to London by the usual courier, the way I have done in the past.”
“How much is the set?” she asked.
“Forty-five thousand dollars.”
“Expensive.”
“No, I do not think so, Stephanie, not for Belperron. The Duchess of Windsor’s necklace and earrings went for more than that in 1987. Nine years ago.”
“But that was a glamour auction and all the world came to it, don’t forget. The prices were driven sky high because of the great interest in the Windsors—to be more precise, in the Duchess of Windsor.”
André chuckled admiringly. “You never forget a thing, and what you say is true. However, let me please explain this particular situation. I am not selling the jewels, they are not the property of Birron et Cie. I am merely acting as a—how do you say?—a go-between, for a client. I am doing her a favor. She had the necklace and ear clips appraised and was informed they were worth about forty thousand dollars approximately. She asked me if I could get my own appraisal, which I did, and, mon Dieu! My appraiser came in with an even higher figure—fifty thousand. So we decided, she and I, to set a price somewhere in the middle. I will explain everything to you later if you decide to buy the pieces. Let you know how you will pay for them.”
“All right.”
“You do not doubt that the jewels are by Belperron, do you?”
“Oh, no, of course I don’t. They bear her inimitable stamp, signature or not. The price is not a problem. What else did you bring from Paris?” she asked, now eyeing the other gray suede pouches on the table, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“Ah, yes, I will show you. There is a diamond pin by Jeanne Boivin. Signed. A lovely example of her individualistic work. Perfection, I think. Here it is.” He took it out, gave it to Stevie. “It is owned by the same woman in Paris, and again it is a family heirloom. Très jolie, oui?”
“It is indeed.” Stevie held the pin out in front of her, gazing at it, and admiringly so. It was a spray of flowers, Queen Anne’s lace, she thought, and beautifully executed. It was typical of Jeanne Boivin’s nature-theme designs of the mid-thirties, when the renowned designer copied her favorite plants and simple flowers in diamonds and platinum.
“I like this very much, and it’s perfect for another client of mine,” Stevie explained, instantly thinking of Derek. Her stepfather had asked her to look for something unusual he could give her mother for Christmas. Certainly this pin would suit Blair. It was stylish without being overwhelming.
“This is extremely rare,” André announced as he presented a dramatic orange-shell brooch to her next.
“It’s Verdura!”
André smiled with pleas
ure. “It seems I taught you well, ma chérie. Yes, it is the duke’s famous lion’s paw shell pin. As you know, he made several of them in the thirties, until the shells became extinct, difficult to find anymore. It has become a much-sought-after piece of jewelry, not only because of its individuality but because it is by Verdura. When my client showed it to me, and hesitated about putting it up for sale, I convinced her to do so. She will never wear it and she is in need of money. But look, Stephanie, at this workmanship…at the encrustation of diamonds set in gold strips which run up the front of the paw. The work is superb, incroyable, do you not agree?”
“I certainly do, and it’s a very unusual pin. Ideal for a brunette with a strong personality.” She placed the shell pin on the table and leaned back against the chair, smiling at her old friend. She had not had to think twice about buying the antique jewelry, and so she said, “I shall take this, as well as the Boivin and the Belperron pieces. It’s not very often that something by Verdura comes on the market, and the duke’s jewelry has become very popular in the last few years.”
“I am happy you are taking them. Each item is unique. Because they are so rare they are extremely valuable. You can almost put any price on them you want, chérie.”
Stevie laughed. “You’d better get out your calculator and tot this up. And then I think we must leave for the auction. I want to get there early.”
“Mais oui, the auction! I am looking forward to it. And even more than that, I am looking forward to being your escort. What a triumph it is going to be for you, Stephanie, when you win the White Empress.”
Stevie stared at him but said nothing. Quite unexpectedly she felt apprehensive and at a loss for words.
André said, “Before we leave I have something for you. Excuse me.” He almost ran out of the room, calling for Matt as he disappeared into the small foyer of the suite. In a moment he was back, holding a black leather box in his hands. Giving it to Stevie, he said, “This is for you, Stephanie, and it comes to you with our love.”
Stevie was so completely taken aback, she gaped at him, and then she opened the box. She caught her breath when she saw the delicate diamond pin on the black velvet; it was a long, curling feather and it was extraordinary. “Oh, André, it’s beautiful! But I can’t accept this…it’s far too valuable.”
“No, no, you cannot refuse! You must not refuse. It is special…a cadeau, ma chérie, for your birthday.”
“My birthday’s not until next week.”
“I will not be in America next week.”
Realizing how ungracious it would be to argue with him any further, she said, “Thank you, André, it was so lovely of you and Elise to remember. I shall call her tomorrow to thank her.”
“My wife adores you…to her you are like a daughter.”
“I know. And I love her, too.” Stevie now began to laugh, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I am going to be forty-seven next week. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“I cannot believe it either. What has happened to the time? It seems to me it was only the other day I met you with Ralph. You were not quite seventeen and very pregnant. Thirty years ago.”
“Please!” she exclaimed. “Don’t remind me!”
“I am proud of you, proud of what you’ve become. And if he were alive, Ralph would be also proud. You are only forty-seven and at the apex of your career…considered to be one of the world’s great jewelers. And you are revered.”
“Thank you for your lovely words, André,” she replied, touched by what he had just said. “But it is you who is revered, not I.” Rising, she walked across to the mirror hanging on a side wall and fastened the diamond feather on the lapel of her jacket. Then she turned around, her expression one of great affection. “How does it look, your beautiful feather?”
“Superbe, ma chérie.”
She walked across to him, bent down, and kissed him on each cheek. “Thank you again, André. I shall treasure it always.”
He nodded, and patted her hand resting on his shoulder, his dark eyes twinkling. He was pleased their gift had been so well accepted, and said, “I will tell Matt we must leave for the auction at once,” and got up, strode off.
Stevie sat down at the table, began to put the jewelry back in the pouches and wallet. Then she placed them in the briefcase.
Together, André and Matt came into the sitting room; they were both wearing their overcoats and Matt carried Stevie’s Trigère cape of black wool lined with red silk. He helped her into it, then locked the briefcase and picked it up.
André’s assistant said, “I’ll take the briefcase down with us, leave it in the hotel safe.”
“Bien, bien, but let us hurry now, Matt; we must not be late.”
As the three of them went down in the elevator, Matt turned to Stevie. “The brooch is gorgeous on you. And you know what, you could wear it on that black velvet beret you favor…then you’ll have”—he grinned at her, and finished—” a feather in your cap.”
“Oh, Matt…” She smiled up at him, shaking her head.
André also smiled, then asked, “And how are you feeling, chérie? Excited, I am quite certain.”
“No, nervous,” Stevie answered, and gave a funny little laugh.
“No, no, you must not be nervous! You must be your usual cool self. Cool and contained. I am here. Matt is here. All will be well. You will see. And it is going to be your evening, my Stephanie.”
12
STEVIE FELT THE BUZZ IN THE AIR THE MOMENT THEY arrived at Sotheby’s on York Avenue. A sense of anticipation and excitement permeated the auction rooms, and to her they seemed like palpable things. People milled around, greeting each other, talking, laughing, and commenting about the auction due to take place within the next half hour.
As Stevie glanced around, she spotted a bevy of well-known New Yorkers, some of them her clients, and also recognized any number of renowned jewelers from London, Paris, Rome, and Geneva as well as from New York.
It was a smartly dressed crowd. The men wore expensive, well-tailored suits; the women were mostly in black, as they usually were in New York at night. She had lived there long enough now to know that black with diamonds or pearls was the compulsory, and very chic, uniform. She had enough black suits, dresses, and silk pumps in her wardrobe to attest to that.
“Let’s not waste time out here,” Stevie said, glancing from André to Matt, and headed toward the room where the auction was to be held.
As they entered, they were given catalogues and numbered paddles to use for the bidding, and then moved on into the room. Matt found three good seats in the center, where they all sat down, with Stevie positioned between the two men. After settling in her seat, she glanced around, eyeing her immediate neighbors.
“Quelle scène,” André said, his eyes sweeping around. “Mon Dieu! Everyone is here!”
“Sure they are—the world and his mother,” Matt remarked.
“Such quaint expressions you have, Matt,” André murmured, then exclaimed, “Ah, there is my old friend, Gilberto Guantano from Brazil. It is a long time since I have seen him. I must go to him, embrace him. Excuse me, Stephanie, Matt.” So saying, he slipped out of his seat and hurried down the aisle to speak to his friend.
After a moment, Matt rose, stood looking around, wondering who was there that he knew. He saw two notable jewelers from Paris, lifted his hand in greeting, and remained standing next to Stevie, his eyes continuing to scan the room, his curiosity running high. “André is correct; this is some turnout,” he said, looking down at Stephanie. “Everyone is here, or they’ve sent representatives…. I see people from Harry Winston, Cartier, and Boucheron. I’ve just spotted one of the directors of Van Cleef, the Garrard group, and David Morris is over there with his wife, Suzette. Quite a lot of people from London have flown in.”
“Yes, I know. And I saw a couple of familiar faces from Geneva as well.”
Matt finally took his seat, then went on. “But I wonder how many are actually serious bidders??
??
“I’m not sure,” Stevie responded, “but I have a feeling I’m going to get a run for my money.”
“And my money’s on you,” Matt said with a wide grin.
Stevie shook her head. “I don’t know, Matt…well, we’ll see.”
“Nervous?”
“A bit,” she admitted, and gave him a rueful smile.
“Try not to worry,” Matt advised. “You’ll see, it’ll be all right.”
“That’s what André keeps telling me. I hope he’s right.”
“He is. We both feel it in our bones; you’re going to get the White Empress.”
“By the looks of this crowd, I’m going to have to pay for it…really pay.”
“Have you set a limit on it?”
“I don’t really want to go beyond ten million,” she said sotto voce, not wanting anyone to overhear. “But I will if I have to. I’d go up to twelve million.”
Matt nodded but made no further comment. Then he stood up again, glancing around, wondering somewhat worriedly who her real competitors were going to be.
Stevie shifted slightly in her chair, endeavoring to relax, but it was hard for her to do so. She was taut with nerves, strung tight like a violin string, and growing anxious all of a sudden. She wanted the auction to begin so that she could get it over with, be done with it now. The noise level was rising as more and more people flooded in; she felt far too warm, and the smell of mingled perfumes was overwhelming.
The White Empress. One of the most fabulous diamonds in the world. Her mind settled on it for a moment or two. She wanted it. She was determined to get it, but there was the real possibility that she might not. Somebody might easily outbid her. She was accustomed to being in control—of herself, her business, her life, and she was not happy when she was not. It was certainly not possible to be in control of a public auction. Only the auctioneer had that kind of control, since it was he who determined everything, at least to a certain extent.