The Amber Room (24 page)

“So it wasn't just that records might have been lost,” Jeffrey said. “Quite possibly, there were no records to begin with.”

Alexander tossed his pen aside. “My dear Jeffrey, an entire castle could have disappeared into the morass of those final days with its going never noticed or recorded.

“Mind you,” he went on, “this was not always the case. There were of course specialists on the German staff whose only job was to catalogue and ship the booty. Yet even at the best of times, when Germany was winning and the legendary German efficiency was in firm command, these people were worked to the point of exhaustion. In many documented cases, they only managed to view the tip of the iceberg. Most of these professionals were assigned to headquarters staff, used by the senior officers to catalogue what they themselves intended to hoard.”

“Which left everyone else below them without expert assistance.”

“Precisely. Officers in the field were laws unto themselves when it came to such matters, so long as a certain flow of goods continued to arrive at headquarters. This meant that much of the loot they happened upon was diverted to their own warehouses or parceled out to their men as rewards. And almost all of these items were catalogued by enlisted men, many of whom did not have a clue as to what they were handling. For example, I have seen records in which a Matisse, three Renoirs, and two Van Goghs were listed as ‘six gilt frames with pictures.' ”

Jeffrey strapped together the final dozen cards for the last table and announced, “That's done.”

“Splendid. I am so grateful for your assistance, Jeffrey. It would have been an impossible task to take on alone.”

“It's been fun. Really.”

“Yes, knowing that you share my enjoyment for both our profession and such events has been a reward in itself.” Alexander glanced at his watch. “What time did you want to be off?”

“In a few minutes.” The excitement that had been tugging at him threatened to spill over. He pushed it away with, “What do you think the room actually looked like?”

“Magnificent, without a doubt. I would imagine it to be as richly textured as a sunrise,” Alexander mused. “That was undoubtedly the designer's intention, you know—to create an inlaid chamber fit for a king.”

“An amber chamber,” Jeffrey said for the thousandth time that week. “Incredible. Almost like walking inside a jewel.”

“Oh, far more grand, I should imagine,” Alexander replied. “Remember, the amber was of a hundred different hues, from the deepest topaz-brown to a fine white-gold champagne. Whatever the amber's shade, light transforms it into something that appears both molten and eternally still, a prism of softest hues. Imagine the color of sunlight through dark ale, or honey, or a fine white wine—this has always been amber's most appealing quality to me, its ability to take whatever light is cast upon it and transform it into something divine.”

“But a
room
of it,” Jeffrey said, awed by the thought.

“Yes, imagine.” Alexander leaned back in his chair and said to the ceiling, “Hundreds of thousands of facets matched for both tone and texture, then carved like bits of a vast, room-sized puzzle. The result was a set of three-dimensional walls that appeared to flicker and flow.”

“And all the light unsteady and shifting,” Jeffrey continued, captivated by the thought. “Imagine what a cloud passing before the sun would have done to the walls.”

“Exactly. The light of that era would have been splendid for amber. Vast floor to ceiling windows, all those chandeliers and candelabras, and tall mirrors reflecting the candlelight; the walls would take on a life of their own, flickering at hints of mysteries within their unfrozen depths. Yes, I would imagine that a chamber of amber would be the most mystical of earthly experiences. Especially at night, as its residents pondered vast affairs of state or read from ancient texts, or
sought answers in the depths of walls whose very form appeared to flow with the power of thought.”

Alexander rose to his feet, began gathering up the neatly stacked and bound place cards. “A famous Russian poet, a guest of the czar, was once invited to sit in the Amber Room. Upon his return to the more mundane realms, he wrote that when the sun shone in the room or the candles played over the walls at night, the room appeared to be
alive
. Every stone, every ornament, every single minute element of this timeless work combined to create a symphony of silent beauty.”

Alexander closed his briefcase, snapped the locks, asked, “You will be meeting me at the prearranged time?”

“With Katya,” Jeffrey said, rising as well.

“I do wish you would tell me what all the mystery is about. This is definitely not a night for further surprises.”

“Everything we've been able to think of has been done,” Jeffrey replied. “I went by at lunchtime, and the display cases and guards are all in.”

“That was not what I was speaking of, and you know it. You have something up your sleeve for this evening, I've been catching wind of it now for several—”

“I've got to be going,” Jeffrey interrupted, heading for the door. “See you at the Ritz.”

Claridge's had no bar. Instead, hotel guests gathered in a parlor the size of a manor house's formal living room and furnished accordingly with overstuffed settees, graceful Chippendale high-backed chairs, Empire coffee tables, original oil paintings, crystal chandeliers, and positively the largest handmade rug Jeffrey had ever seen. Service was provided by footmen in brass-buttoned uniforms festooned with braid and buckles and ornamental finery. In the far corner, a quartet strung theater tunes together with light Strauss waltzes and Brahms melodies. The parlor's atmosphere was subdued yet grand, and reeked of wealth.

Jeffrey escaped the blustery winter damp by waiting in the hotel's
white-marble front lobby. He had time to check his dinner jacket for unnoticed stains, his starched shirtfront for wayward studs, and his silk bowtie for recent skews before he spotted Katya alighting from a taxi. The box in his pocket bounced against his side as he rushed for the door.

He paid off Katya's driver and ushered her back inside. She wore a dark gray overcoat with black velvet piping at arms and sides that ended at the cuffs in a curlicue of intricate handwork. Cloth buttons fitted within miniature matching designs formed double-breasted rows down the front. The velvet collar was high and stiff and rose to meet her shimmering black hair.

Jeffrey brushed at raindrops sparkling her locks. “You look like a Russian fairy princess.”

She replied with a curtsy and “Thank you, my dashing prince.”

He took her arm and ushered her into the hotel proper. “I'm sorry not to have picked you up, but I didn't have time to come out and still be with you here.”

“That's all right.” She stopped by the cloakroom and began unbuttoning her coat. “But why Claridge's?”

“I promised . . . No, wait, you'll see.” He helped her with the coat. Underneath it, Katya wore an off-the-shoulder gown of emerald green silk, slit along one leg to reveal matching sheer stockings and high-heeled slippers. Her only jewelry was a tiny gold cross nestled in the base of her neck. His heart was squeezed tight by the sight of her. “Katya, I can't believe how beautiful you are.”

She rewarded him with a sparkling smile. “When you look at me like that, I feel as if I need a fan to hide behind.”

“Come on.” He led her down the central hall, past the porter's desk, through the high portico, and into the formal parlor, conscious all the while that every eye in the hotel was upon them.

A liveried footman bowed a formal greeting and held
Katya's chair. She made round eyes and whispered to Jeffrey, “What is all this?”

“Wait.” He seated himself beside her and waited for the footman to depart. “I am doing this for all those who have helped to bring us together, Katya. May we honor them all our days with our love for each other.”

“The way you say that makes me shiver.” She looked at him for a long moment. “You sound so formal.”

“I've thought about this moment for a long time,” Jeffrey replied.

“What is it?”

“I'm not doing this for me,” he replied. “Well, I am, but it's for others too. Especially why I'm doing it here. I promised someone.”

“Jeffrey Allen Sinclair,” she said sharply. “You positively may not make me cry tonight.”

“I have something for you,” he persisted. “It just arrived yesterday, and I know she'd want you to wear it tonight.”

“Who?”

“My grandmother. When she became engaged to Piotr, my grandfather, Alexander gave her this and then took them here for dinner. She wants you to have this as her engagement present, and she asked if I would give it to you here, her favorite hotel in all the world. She asked me to tell you that she is very sorry not to be here, but her health won't allow it, so she hopes we will be traveling over to America very soon. She says that from what I've told her, she is sure you are a gift from above.” He had to stop and swallow hard. “She also hopes we will be as happy as she was with Piotr, and that we will remember her and the love she holds—”

“Stop, Jeffrey. Please.”

“The love she holds for us both,” he finished. He brought the long, slender velvet box from his pocket. “This is for you, Katya.”

“I can't.”

“Please. I want you to have it. We both do.”

Gingerly she accepted the box, pressed the little catch, swung open the top, gave a trembling sigh. “Oh, Jeffrey.”

There were sixteen emeralds in all. Eight formed the necklace's first row, five the second, and a single gem twice as large as the others hung below in solitary splendor. Each was framed within a casing of yellow gold, and suspended upon a netting of intertwined red and white gold rope. The final two jewels were set as matching earrings and hung from little perches on the box's silk-lined top.

She reached over, asked, “May I have your handkerchief, please?”

“Here.”

“Thank you.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Am I a mess?”

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on,” he answered truthfully. “Would you like me to help you put it on?”

“All right.” She swiveled in her seat to present him with her back.

He lifted the necklace, threaded it around her neck, fastened it, tasted her skin with his lips. “Turn around.”

“How does it look?”

“Stop patting it for a second so I can see.”

“Is this really for me?”

He nodded. “Do you want to try on the earrings, too?”

“Tell me how it looks, Jeffrey. Please.”

“As though it were made for you. Truly.” And it did. The jewels' shimmering green accented her skin's creamy whiteness and her eyes' sparkling depths.

She leaned forward to kiss him. “I don't think I can find the right words to thank you just now, Jeffrey.”

“You don't have to say anything.”

“Yes I do, and I will. But not just now.” She rose to her feet, taking the box with her. “Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I positively must go see this for myself.”

CHAPTER 22

Unlike many great hotels, the Ritz carried the splendor of its lobby and public rooms into the main ballroom. A pair of liveried waiters flanked the double entranceway. Within these portals, the first guests milled about in the formal anteroom, itself much larger than many great-rooms. Beyond the polished-wood floors with their Persian carpets and valuable antiques stood yet another set of crested double doors, these leading into the ballroom proper.

Each of the ballroom tables was set for twelve and crowned with a vast floral centerpiece. Massive gilt chandeliers, nine in all, cast soft brilliance over the immaculate setting. In the hall's very center stood the display cases, of gray steel and security glass, holding the trio of precious Polish artifacts.

Alexander stood just inside the first set of doors, giving last-minute instructions to the obsequious maitre d'. The old gentleman was resplendent in well-fitting finery; the only mark of color to his severe, black-and-white evening wear was a small gold medal on watered silk that hung from his lapel. Jeffrey had never seen such a medal before, had no idea what it meant.

The old gentleman's eyes lit up at the sight of Katya. Alexander waved the maitre d' away and focused his entire attention on the young woman, pausing a very long moment before bowing and kissing the offered hand.

“My dear,” he murmured. “You look absolutely exquisite.”

Katya touched her free hand to her neck. “I believe I have you to thank for these.”

“Tonight the past has come alive for me once more,” Alexander replied quietly.

“I only wish Piotr and his wife were here for me to thank as well,” Katya said.

Alexander looked at Jeffrey. “In one respect, they are. A part of them.”

“A magnificent part,” Katya said, looking up with pride at her husband-to-be.

Alexander nodded. “May I say how delighted and happy I am for you both.”

“Thank you,” she said, joy shining in her eyes.

“I suppose Jeffrey has told you of my engagement present.”

“Not yet,” Jeffrey replied.

“Then I shall. My dear, my first purchase as an antiques dealer was a ring. I have kept it long enough. I have asked Jeffrey if I might be permitted to offer it as an engagement ring, a mark of the affection I hold for you both.”

Katya reached for Jeffrey's hand. “Please don't make me cry again.”

“Very well.” He clapped his hands. “Enough! I too shall be no good at all tonight if we continue. My dear, please be so kind as to go reassure the Count. He is over by the display case trying to convince himself that he has seen the chalice before. In Rome of all places.”

“Of course,” Katya agreed, and departed with a regal half-inch curtsy for Alexander and a brief hand-squeeze for Jeffrey.