The Charm Bracelet (17 page)

Holly smiled. With luck she’d be able to reunite the bracelet with its (possibly by now frantic) owner very soon.

At his apartment, Greg was on hold with Suzanne Lee, his contact from the
NYT
. Billy was right: to say that this particular writer was highly strung was a huge understatement.

He picked up the tennis ball he had been rolling across the living-room floor to the opposite wall and sent it rolling again.

Finally Suzanne’s clipped, businesslike voice came through. ‘So do you get it? Do you get what I want? I don’t want it to look like a Macy’s ad, OK? None of that happy-clappy stuff, you got it? I want classic, old-style New York, so you’re going to do Rockefeller, Wollman Rink, The Plaza,’ she paused. ‘Are you writing this down?’

Greg looked at the scribbles he had made since the beginning of the conversation. ‘Yep.’

‘Good, and I need a shot of Tiffany’s on Fifth and I want a bakery, one of those traditional kinds—’

‘I know a good one.’ Greg cut her off without thinking.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

‘Glaser’s on the
Upper East Side, German, been there for over a hundred years … ’ He trailed off, uncertain.

‘OK, great!’

Suzanne Lee hung up the phone and Greg was left to wonder about deadlines and how to get her the prints. He leafed through the directory and saw there was an email next to the number. He’d start right away; Suzanne sounded like the kind of person who wanted things ‘yesterday’. Obviously the woman was under a lot of stress, or maybe that’s the way she was all the time?

Greg looked at his notes. He’d like to do the
Rockefeller Center and The Plaza at night; they’d look especially festive and pretty all lit up. He would clean all his equipment tonight, and tidy the darkroom, check fluids and that kind of thing. The bakery and Wollman Rink he could do tomorrow morning before heading over to his folks’ place for a while. Then maybe the night shots the following evening.

He decided to do it in chunks and send digital photos through as he went: that way Suzanne could tell him if he was on the right track or not, which he suspected would be no trouble for her.

But for now, he planned to take a trip downtown to work on the second phase of his new career plan, something that he hoped would boost Karen’s faith in him even more.

Holly walked with determination as she navigated the slush on Twenty-Fifth Street while taking special care to not ruin her black riding boots. She had to admit that she had possibly made a mistake in her wardrobe choice that morning and paid silent tribute to the Scotchguard she had applied when she first bought the boots in a Century 21 sale during the summer.

She peered down the street and she took a moment to check the address again. The street was awash with galleries, and she wanted to make sure that she had found the right one.

‘It should be just here.’ Holly looked up at the nondescript building in front of her and felt sure that she had found the correct one. Nothing said ‘art gallery of the highest standing’ like a brown brick building with no signs.

She pulled her mink-coloured shearling coat tighter around her, taking a few steps forward to tug at the heavy and ornate oak door.

A moment later she was welcomed by a blast of heat that was surprising considering the high ceilings in the space, and she welcomed the warmth.

Dark wood floors complemented the red paint on the walls and reflected bursts of light from the track and recessed lighting fixtures above. The space could have easily been considered for a wing at MoMa, it was so elegant, and Holly’s gaze immediately wandered to the walls, which were covered in resplendent pop art canvas paintings and photographs. Some were renditions of places here in
New York, others of exotic locales around the world that Holly could only dream of.

Fascinated, she started to wander along the perimeter of the room, almost forgetting why she had come in the first place, until someone approached her silently from behind.

‘Welcome to the del Vecchio Gallery. Is there something I can help you with?’

Holly turned around quickly to be faced with a dark-haired man who had the same sculpted jawline and arresting features as another man she had met in
Manhattan many moons ago. The man in front of her spoke with an ever-so-soft Italian accent; an inflection that clearly indicated he had been in the US for some time, but had not yet given up his roots. His eyes were heavily lashed, but instead of blue like Nick’s, they were warm amber. A smile graced his lips, one that suggested he was a rogue and knew it, and Holly steeled herself, almost out of habit, not to fall prey to yet another charming man.

However, as was Holly’s nature, she also had a hard time being rude to a stranger and a smile found its way to her lips.

‘Yes, maybe you can help me. I’m looking to speak to Gennaro del Vecchio?’

The smile grew wider. ‘Well, then you are in luck, because I am he.’

‘Oh,’ Holly stuttered, somewhat disarmed.

The mere fact that she had asked for him directly seemed to make his body language suddenly click into overdrive, as if he was intrigued that he now had the audience of an attractive female.

‘And you are?’ he inquired.

‘Oh, sorry, I’m Holly O’Neill.’

‘Well, Holly O’Neill, what brings you here today? Are you looking for a new piece of artwork?’

Right
, she thought to herself with a smile,
everything on the walls here probably costs more than I pay in a year’s rent.

‘The artwork is beautiful, but actually it’s about something else. And it’s sort of a long story. I wouldn’t want to interrupt you if you are busy?’

She knew that she was the only person on the gallery floor just then, but she didn’t know if there was some sort of backstage business that the owner engaged in when there was no foot traffic.

‘Does it look like I am crushed with Christmas shoppers?’ he teased. ‘I run a business that is, how do you say it … not the top priority when stuffing a stocking.’

Holly let out a laugh at his somewhat broken English. She had to admit that she loved a man with an accent, and he was definitely handsome. Unfortunately he reminded her too much of someone she tried not to think about regularly.

‘And besides,’ he added pointedly, ‘I always have plenty of time for a beautiful woman.’

I bet you do
, thought Holly, as she mentally channelled some imaginary armour to shield herself from his charms. ‘Thank you.’

‘So tell me your story, Holly O’Neill. What is it I can help you with?’

Holly extracted the bracelet from her pocket and once again recapped her mission: how she was trying to track the owner by way of the charms, as well as her path to Gennaro’s front door. When she’d finished, she paused for a breath and waited for the gallery owner to speak.

‘May I see this bracelet of yours?’

She handed it over willingly, and he searched through it. She thought he was looking for the horseshoe with the letters that had led her here, but instead he flipped directly to the tadpole-like charm that Holly couldn’t identify.

‘This
corno
, it is wonderful, the craftsmanship is spectacular,’ he pointed out, displaying the charm in his palm.

She followed his gaze. ‘Oh, what did you call it – a
corno
?’ she asked, fascinated. ‘What is that?’

‘It’s an Italian horn. A traditional talisman used to ward off evil.’

Interesting, Holly thought, her mind racing. Could the owner of the bracelet possibly be Italian then?

‘Yes, it’s quite beautiful,’ she replied, unwilling to admit that she hadn’t known what it was.

‘Surely, it is, I grew up around them,’ Gennaro said, chuckling. ‘And I may well have grown up around this very one.’

Holly’s eyes grew wide. ‘Excuse me?’

‘This charm, I believe it came from a shop in my home town, in Florence. My father’s shop,
Corna Fiorentine
.’             

‘Seriously?’ Holly couldn’t believe her luck.

‘I take it this is the charm that led you here to me?’

‘No actually, but what a happy coincidence,” Holly replied, heartened that she was on the right track. ‘Maybe your father could help me find who bought this?’

Gennaro’s smile dimmed ever so slightly. ‘Ah, I am afraid that is not possible. You see, my father, Giovanni, now rests with the angels.’             

‘Oh, I see,’ said Holly, crestfallen once again. ‘I’m terribly sorry to hear that.’

‘Don’t worry, it was many years ago. But even if he was still alive, please understand that he sold many of these through the years. I doubt if he would have been able to identify this one trinket.’ He held the bracelet out to Holly, and she took it.

‘Probably,’ she agreed, trying to consider the angles. ‘But it’s so strange – that isn’t the charm that led me here. It’s this one.’ She indicated the horseshoe. ‘Isn’t it odd that the bracelet has two very different charms that lead directly to you?’

Gennaro shook his head and his brow creased. ‘Yes, it is odd, and very strange. But I cannot figure out the connection, as I’ve never seen this bracelet before. None of my own work, or the work I buy from freelancers, has anything to do with
corna
or horseshoes.’

Holly was thinking out loud. ‘Well, you said the horn symbolises protection, as do horseshoes. What about the numbers: do they mean anything to you?’

Gennaro looked again at the inscription, 618. ‘Nothing to me personally. Maybe it is a date?’

‘Yes, maybe.’ Then remembering her recent conversation with Jessica, a thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Would you happen to hold events here? Like a charity benefit or something? And have you ever heard of a woman called Margot Mead?’

Gennaro shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I do not know this lady. And we do hold events here sometimes – not as you describe, but exhibits, where our artists sell their work, sometimes in aid of charity.’

Holly was thinking hard. ‘Wait a minute, didn’t you say you buy the work of freelancers?’ When he nodded in agreement she continued. ‘And you showcase this work, at gallery events?’

‘Yes, we do,’ Gennaro confirmed. ‘Ah, I see where you are going with this. Maybe this charm means “good luck”, because someone had their work showcased here on such a date, perhaps the eighteenth of June, yes?’

Holly smiled: that was exactly where she’d been going. ‘Yes, so how long have you been open? Or actually, how many eighteenth of Junes have you been open?’

Gennaro put a thoughtful hand to his chin and started counting, what Holly assumed was years, on his fingers.

‘That would be eight. I have owned this gallery for eight years.’

Holly felt like jumping up and down. She felt that they were close to discovering another piece of the puzzle. She was sure of it.

‘And how many times have you had gallery events on June the eighteenth?’

With that Gennaro threw up his arms. ‘Well, that, I would have to check. My assistant keeps those records, but I can ask her to look. You are looking specifically for work exhibited by freelancers, yes?’

‘And who might have an Italian connection of some sort – although that’s not a given,’ she added quickly, so as not to make the search too restrictive.

Gennaro smiled. ‘You are quite the detective, Holly O’Neill.’

‘My son calls me Sherlock.’ She smiled, thinking of her and Danny’s recent sleuthing, and was surprised to see Gennaro’s face change at the mention of a son. His eyes darted to her left hand, evidently in search of a ring. Holly had to purse her lips together to hold back a smile.

‘Your son? How long have you been married?’

Holly shook her head and looked down at her hand. ‘I’m not. And I’m no longer with Danny’s father.’

Gennaro’s face brightened. ‘Ah, I see, and your son. How old is he? And does he like your current boyfriend?’

Talk about subtle …
             

‘He’s ten. And there is no current boyfriend.’

Gennaro looked Holly up and down. ‘There is no way you are old enough to have a ten-year-old son. Not possible. I mean, you can’t be a day over twenty-five, how beautiful you are. And to be single, that is a tragedy.’

Holly laughed out loud at this. ‘Oh Gennaro, what a smooth talker
you
are! Try adding ten to that.’

He feigned shock at her true age and put a hand over his heart. ‘You must have fantastic genes, do not tell me, you are Italian, yes? We Italians have good genes; Italian women are beautiful forever.’

‘Do I look Italian to you?’ Holly pointed to her hair, and glanced at her watch. As much as she was enjoying Gennaro’s flirting, she needed to get back to work.

‘So is your assistant here? Do you think she – or he – could get this information for me?’ She hoped her suggestion could get the flirtatious gallery owner back on track, but unfortunately he shook his head.

‘No, Sofia is not here right now.’ Holly hid a smile;
of course
his assistant was a woman and
of course
she was a Sofia. There was no way a man like Gennaro would have a Sally or a Jane as an assistant. ‘But I can have her call you. If you leave me your number?’ He smiled devilishly, and Holly was quite certain that if she left her number, Sofia wouldn’t be the only person calling her. Nevertheless, she handed him her business card.

‘My cell is on there, so is my email, in case
Sofia finds anything.’ She stressed the assistant’s name, hoping Gennaro would take a hint.

He didn’t.

‘Fantastic Holly O’Neill, and once we have some information for you, maybe I can take you to dinner? To talk about our … er … findings with this mystery bracelet.’ As much as she hated the next words that came out of her mouth, she knew it was necessary in order to get Gennaro to ask his assistant to pull the event records, and not throw her card in the trash as soon as she walked out of the store.

‘Sure, that would be lovely. As soon as
Sofia calls me, we can figure something out.’ She smiled coyly, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it.

Flirting with Italian Stallions like Gennaro was not a speciality of hers, and frankly, since Nick, she felt long out of practice in the art of flirting. After all, she and Nick had stopped flirting a
long
time ago.

‘Ah
bella!
Fantastico
. I know just the place too, you will see.’

‘Sure, just don’t forget to talk to
Sofia about that, OK?’ She pointed to her card. ‘It’s very important that I get this bracelet back to its owner. Remember, New York artists you might have exhibited work from, OK? Female New York artists.’

‘You have my promise, Holly O’Neill.’ He reached forward and took her hand, then bowed low to place a kiss on it. The door chimed behind them and Holly reclaimed her hand, placing the bracelet back in her handbag, making sure it was safe and secure. ‘Until we meet again,
bella donna
. Ah! Now, you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Gregorio!’ Gennaro cheered, looking over Holly’s shoulder at whomever had just walked in the door of the gallery.

Holly turned abruptly and ran face first into the man she assumed was ‘Gregorio’.

‘God, sorry,’ she said, rubbing her nose, which had connected squarely with the man’s very hard shoulder.