A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) (25 page)

After a leisurely breakfast, I decided not to put off the trip to Sophie’s. My oldest sister answered the door, looking more frazzled than usual. I resisted the urge to hold the baking dish like a shield and chose to smile warmly instead.

“Oh, thanks for bringing that. Come on in,” she said, using her foot to keep Gigi from making a break for it.

“No problem,” I said, bending over to pet Gigi as she jumped by my feet.

I wouldn’t have termed myself a dog person, by any means, but even I could tell Gigi didn’t seem quite right. She hadn’t been groomed recently—Grand-mère had been meticulous about having her trimmed every few weeks. She sat at my feet and wagged her tail, looking me directly in the eyes with an expression that could only be described as begging.

“So,” I said, trying to be casual, “how are things going with the dog?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “She’s getting into everything. I just don’t have time for it. I’ll take your jacket. Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“Tea sounds nice. Is Chloé enjoying having a dog in the house?” I asked, testing the waters.

“Oh sure. But will she walk the dog? No. I’m thinking of going back to work soon, and I don’t know what to do with the dog all day. Though,” she said, filling the teakettle with water, “I don’t even know what to do with it all day as it is.”

“Mmm,” I said, my mind whirling. Gigi had followed me and stood watch at my feet, again with the begging expression. I patted my lap.

Without hesitation, she jumped up, climbed into my arms, and rested her head on my shoulder.

“Wow,” Sophie said. “I’ve never seen her do that.”

I bit my lip and patted Gigi awkwardly on the back.

I don’t need a dog
, I thought.
The last thing I need is an animal underfoot when I’m testing recipes
.

Despite my thoughts, the words came quickly before I could talk myself out of them. “Do you want me to take her?”

“Really? Would you?” Sophie’s face eased. “That would be wonderful.”

She wasted no time in gathering up Gigi’s belongings and placing them in a pile by the door. She poured tea for both us of, which we drank rather quickly.

I think she wanted me—and the dog—out of the house before I changed my mind.

Sophie even helped me carry everything back to my car.

In my head, I knew this was a terrible idea. I’d never had a dog before; I didn’t have the first idea of what I was doing.

But as I drove away with Gigi curled up in the passenger’s seat, staring at me with her huge brown eyes, I knew I’d done the right thing.

Even if it was crazy.

“You brought her!” Clementine cried out, clapping, when I walked inside with Gigi in tow.

“I have no idea what I’m doing with a dog,” I said. “I can’t deal with dog hairs finding their way into the custard.”

Clementine shook her head as she bent over to pet Gigi. “Bichon frises don’t shed. That was one thing your grandmother liked about them.”

“Where did she, you know, have the dog do her business?”

“You mean pee?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “You know I do.”

“I was just giving you a hard time. No, Mireille would take Gigi on walks, sometimes, but if she didn’t want to go downstairs, she’d send the dog on the patio. Had a special patch out there.”

“I think I remember that. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What were they feeding you?” Clementine asked the dog, who by this time had all four paws in the air and not a care in the world. “Mireille had her on good quality kibble. Her coat had more luster than this. But that’s all right. We’ll fix it.”

“You know how?”

“I love dogs. My aunt and uncle raise whippets out in Gresham. They do the show circuit, the whole nine yards.”

I sat down on the floor and crossed my legs. Gigi left Clementine to sit in my lap.

“Huh.” I gave Gigi a tentative pat. “I guess I’ll be learning.”

I rose early Sunday morning, took Gigi out, and dressed for a cool spring day. The night before, Gigi had slept at the foot of my bed—the only night within recent memory when I’d slept soundly, only waking once when Gigi found a rabbit in her sleep. She consented to recline in her kennel while I attended church, though she seemed delighted and ready to play when I returned.

My trip to the antique shop with Chloé had served as an important reminder that there really were people who knew old things. So I could either wonder about the items in the tin, or I could show them to a dealer and find out what I could.

Not that I was at all interested in selling them—I only wanted to know their secrets.

The week before, I’d called and made an appointment for myself at Maloy’s Jewelry Workshop in downtown, a shop that specialized in heirloom and estate pieces.

On Tuesday, I wrapped the cuff links and ring in tissue paper and sealed them in a Ziploc baggie before placing them in my purse.

I left Gigi with Clementine, who was busy testing a custard recipe.

At Maloy’s, I rang the bell for entry.

A woman, who introduced herself as Marla, opened the door and took me to a back room where I showed her the pieces.

Marla examined the ring with a loop before letting out a long, low whistle. “This is a Van Cleef & Arpels piece,” she said, handing me a magnifying glass.
“Look at the engraving inside the band—VCA and a serial number. I can contact my rep and see if I can get a more specific date. It looks like it’s from the early forties to me.” She sat back and studied them. “To be honest they’re … well, I’ve only seem a few VCA pieces come through here, and none of them this … simple.”

“It’s okay,” I said, suppressing a smile.

“This ring is more likely to be a custom piece, something designed for a friend of an employee on a budget. It’s of the highest quality, of course. But most VCA are statement pieces. They designed coronets and tiaras for royalty, after all.”

I nodded. I could see Google searches in my future.

Marla moved on to the cuff links. “Now these … these are quite cunning. There’s also a VCA engraving on the side, here—” She handed me a magnifying glass so I could look myself.

In the end, Marla quoted me an appraisal value that made me blink. “It’s because they’re Van Cleef & Arpels pieces,” she said. “Very high quality—the diamonds may be small, but they’re flawless. I’ll give my rep a call today. Let’s see if we can’t find out more about these pieces.”

I thanked her, wrapped up the ring and cuff links, and set off for home.