Parisian Affair (20 page)

What have I gotten myself into?
she
asked herself
. What is a simple jewelry designer with hardly a
dime to her name—let alone the pedigrees of the bidders that will
be in the auction room today—doing here? How could I have had the
audacity to tell Hilton Whitehead that I could do this?

She walked up the limestone steps to the
grand entrance, and strode into the building. She ignored the
guards and the well-dressed people standing in small gaggles,
chatting in soft voices, as if in a church. She went to the
registration desk, where she picked up her paddle for bidding. Even
the young lady behind the desk spoke in hushed tones.
Vingt-neuf
. Twenty-nine. The sibilant sounds of whispers
followed her as she went to the elevator. Well, this was sort of a
church, Allegra reminded herself, as she ascended to the auction
room. A temple, if not to God, then to mammon. And this temple
offered the closest thing to heaven that could be found on earth as
far as its customers were concerned.

When she reached the auction room, she went
straight in and walked down to the second row of folding seats that
had been set up. She took a seat on the aisle. She was not going to
allow the auctioneer to ignore her bids. She would be front and
center, where she and her paddle couldn't be missed. There would be
no excuse for overlooking her. Certainly not in front of a room
full of curious people. And there would be a lot of curiosity.
About everybody that bid today, of that she was certain. She
shrugged out of her overcoat, leaving it on her shoulders, then
loosened her scarf and removed her gloves. Glancing at her watch,
she saw that the auction would begin in about five minutes.

God help me
, she silently prayed.
I've got to be successful. For Hilton Whitehead. For my
business. And for myself.

Allegra's head was swimming, and her heart
was beating rapidly. She felt her body stiffen with anxiety and
made an effort to relax, but it was all she could do to maintain
the carefully composed picture of cool reserve that she had adopted
for the auction. Appearing to be a nonthreatening observer as
opposed to a serious bidder was more difficult than she'd imagined.
The auction audience, buyers and onlookers alike, was in an
extremely excited state, loudly oohing, aahing, and gasping as
prices climbed, and clapping enthusiastically when individual lots
of the princess's jewelry were sold.

And sell they did. Lot after lot was
auctioned off at a rapid-fire pace, usually taking no more than a
minute to achieve an astronomical price and bring the suave
auctioneer's hammer swinging down for a dramatic pound on the
lectern. Not a single lot had gone unsold thus far, an auction
world rarity, and Allegra was stunned by the prices that people
were paying for jewels that were not necessarily very valuable.

Lot number sixteen, for example, was
approximately fifteen tiny unset diamonds, worth no more than fifty
dollars each, Allegra surmised, for a total value of approximately
seven hundred fifty dollars. Dufour, clever salespeople that they
were, had arranged the tiny stones on a piece of black velvet in
the shape of a
K
, obviously for
Princess Karima
, and
Allegra had watched in amazement as the bidding for them reached
seventeen thousand dollars before the auctioneer swung his hammer
high in the air and brought it down.

As lot number twenty-four, the emerald ring,
approached, Allegra looked down at her watch. Not twenty minutes
had yet passed, and she wished now that the ring had been later in
the auction.
Oh, well
, she thought,
it's better to get
the suspense over with
. She was practically sitting on the edge
of her seat when the auctioneer announced lot twenty-four.

In French, he quickly informed the audience
that the thirty-four-and-a- half-carat emerald had been a gift to
the princess from her companion of many years, Stefano Donati. It
was therefore, he summarized, one of the most important pieces of
jewelry in the princess's collection. The bidding started at one
million euros and, before Allegra knew what was happening in the
lightninglike pace of bidding, had reached twenty million.

Suddenly she felt a cold sweat break out on
her face and neck, and she realized that she'd better get in the
game before it was over. She raised her black paddle with its white
number twenty-nine high in the air and left it there unwavering.
The auctioneer's eyes briefly made contact with hers before
surveying the rest of the room in one swift appraisal. Allegra
didn't follow his gaze, but kept her eyes glued to him, her paddle
still unmoving. She couldn't see who else was bidding, or whether
there were several bidders or a handful, but over the beating of
her heart and the adrenaline that shot through every vein, she
heard the auctioneer say,
'Trente
. Do I have
trente-cinq?
Trente-cinq. Quarante. Quarante
.'

For an instant his gaze caught hers, and he
nodded almost imperceptibly.

'
Quarante-cinq. Quarante-cinq
.'

His eyes swept the room, and she saw him nod
toward the tables of young ladies and gentlemen who were manning
the telephones set up for call-in bidders. Gasps filled the room.
Obviously someone had phoned in a bid of forty-five million
euros.

Allegra nervously clenched her jaw and held
her paddle with knuckles white and tight.
It's got to end,
she thought
. It's got to. I can't stand the tension. Oh, God,
help me
.

The bidding abruptly slowed, and the
auctioneer began to cajole the audience, using his considerable
charm, accusing them of being too poor or too cheap to bid any
higher. There was laughter around the room.

Then she heard, '
Quarante-six
.' Soon
followed by '
Quarante-sept
.'

In a small room next to the auction gallery,
Princess Karima watched the activity from behind a large window
that appeared to be a mirror in the auction room. Her heavily
made-up eyes gleamed darkly as they focused first on Ramtane
Tadjer, who was seated in the rear of the auction room, and then
the young woman with the strawberry blond hair, seated near the
front. She flicked the ash off her cigarette into the porcelain
ashtray at her side, then took a long draw of it, before exhaling a
plume of smoke through her nostrils.

Who is she? she wondered, although she was
certain she knew the answer to her question. She was obviously
American, and she was no doubt bidding for a rich American. But who
could that American be?

A long, lacquered nail tucked a stray hair
into the cream cashmere turban that was wrapped around her head,
completely concealing all but an inch or so of black hair at her
forehead. She wore it with a deceptively simple but elegant cream
cashmere suit from Valentino Couture. Small pearl studs adorned her
ears, and a simple gold watch was at her wrist. Otherwise, the
princess wore no jewelry. In her lap were black calfskin gloves and
a black alligator pocketbook, both from Hermes, and her feet were
shod in medium-heeled black alligator pumps. From one hand dangled
a pair of large, dark sunglasses in black frames, and in the other
was her cigarette.

On one side of her sat Prince Albert de
Guermantes, a jewelry specialist with Dufour, who remained quiet
but attentive during the auction, his focus on the princess rather
than the auction itself. The prince, who despised cigarette smoke,
sniffed and shifted in his seat, but endured the princess's noxious
fumes. He was there as a representative of the house should the
princess have any questions or any special needs. Should she want a
drink, for example, the prince would scramble to accommodate
her.

On the other side of her sat the Honorable
Marcus Setville-Penhurst, a handsome, darkly tanned, and much
sought-after bachelor in his forties. Scion of a venerable British
family that had managed to hang on to a grand country house, a town
house in London, and a fortune in art and antiques—despite the
burdens of death duties and taxes—he was one of Princess Karima's
most frequent companions, although it was well known among their
set that he preferred the company of men after dinner parties had
ended and the long dark hours of the night began. He was watching
the proceedings without much real interest, thankful that he'd
swallowed a two-milligram Xanax before escorting the princess
through one of Dufour's rear entrances.

Princess Karima slipped a cell phone out of
her alligator bag and flipped it open.

'Who the devil are you calling?' Marcus
asked, looking at her.

'Mimi,' she replied without returning his
glance. 'I forgot to give her some instructions.' She dialed her
housekeeper's number.

'But
now?
' Marcus said
incredulously.

She waved him to silence with a hand. 'Mimi,'
she said into the cell phone, 'we'll be going to the country this
afternoon. Get everything ready.' She listened a moment, then said,
'No, it won't be long. That jeweler from Jules Levant—you know the
one—and a young American woman are bidding against one another. I
don't know her. She's attractive, thirtyish, all in black with
strawberry blond hair. But I must go. See you soon.' She flipped
the phone closed and replaced it in her handbag.

'What the hell does that old hag care about
all this?' Marcus asked, staring at her with curiosity.

'Shhhh,
cheri
,' Princess Karima
chided, putting a finger to his lips. 'We must see who gets my
emerald ring, mustn't we?'

Allegra desperately wanted to see who was
bidding against her but didn't dare take her eyes off the
auctioneer. Was it just one person? Two or three? She had no idea,
but she kept her paddle high.

'
Quarante-huit
.'

She held her breath.

'
Quarante-neuf
.'

The room fell totally silent.

'
Cinquante
.' The auctioneer surveyed
the room over the rims of his half-moon glasses, a serious
expression on his face now. Finally his gaze fell on Allegra and
rested there.

'
Cinquante et un
.'

There was a collective gasp; then Allegra
heard the hammer fall with an explosive bang on the lectern.

'
Vendu!
' exclaimed the auctioneer. 'To
the young lady in the second row.'

Allegra realized that he was smiling at her
from behind the podium.
Oh, my God,
she thought
. I got
it. I got it. I got it!
She heard the wild applause from the
audience and, looking around, saw that all eyes were upon her.

Lowering her paddle, she picked up her
shoulder bag, shrugged into her coat, stood up, and, putting a
smile on her face, quickly walked up the aisle toward the back of
the room, aware of the sea of eyes that still stared at her with
curiosity and of the many whispered comments traded behind hands
held at mouths. She failed to notice the only person in the room
whom she had previously met, and didn't see him leave his seat as
she hurried out of the room into the hallway. She had to pick up
the ring and get it to the bank right away. In the hallway she
pressed the elevator button. Yesterday, she had neglected to ask
where the cashier and pickup areas were, but she assumed they were
downstairs.

On the ground floor, she went to the
information desk. The young blonde, Hermes scarf tied around her
neck, looked up at her. 'Mademoiselle?'

'
Le caissier
?' Allegra asked.

Pointing a finger down a hallway, the young
lady replied, 'Down the hallway to the end, then to the left. You
can't miss it.'

'
Merci
,' Allegra replied.

She turned and followed the young lady's
directions, aware of the guards and staff staring at her and
whispering as the crowd had upstairs. Then she saw the video
monitors that were mounted on the walls, televising the auction
upstairs.

Aha! So they know I'm the woman who just
dropped about sixty-five million bucks on an emerald ring
, she
thought with amusement.

Turning left where the young lady had
indicated, she saw the long mahogany cashier's counter straight
ahead. An elderly woman, heavily made- up and with hair dyed a
pitch black and pulled back into a bun, looked at her through the
thick lenses of her glasses. Her eyes were magnified into huge,
almost frightening black saucers. 'Mademoiselle?' she said in
acknowledgment, her garish red lipstick clownish in the way it
attempted to create lips where there was nothing more than a thin
line.

'Lot
vingt-quatre
,' Allegra said,
smiling and trying not to stare.

'Oui, mademoiselle,' the woman said with a
nod. 'You wish to pay for it?'

'
Oui
,' Allegra replied, placing her
shoulder bag on the counter. She reached inside it and withdrew the
envelope with the check she was to use.

'
Un moment
.' The woman turned and went
to a long counter with an array of computer equipment behind her.
Underneath the counter was a lengthy row of filing cabinets. The
woman began pushing computer keys, slowly, looking from the
keyboard to the monitor with every tap of a key.

Allegra riffled through her shoulder bag for
a pen and didn't see the man who had followed her from the auction
room. He stood just around the corner of the hallway, his eyes
riveted to her back. Her fingers found a pen, and she pulled it out
of the bag, then stood patiently waiting while the elderly woman
did the necessary paperwork. She didn't know what the total charge
would be after the tax and buyer's commission were added.

After what seemed an interminable wait, the
old woman turned from the counter with a sheaf of papers and
stapled them together in front of Allegra with a heavy pound of her
fist. She laid the papers down so that they were facing Allegra.
Then with a long, red-lacquered fingernail she tapped at the total
amount due at the bottom of the top page.