The Cherbourg Jewels (13 page)

--
Gertrude

Ella fingered the azure silk lightly.  It felt thin and soft as a cloud.  She scooped it up, along with the pile of underthings, and carried all of it into the attached bathroom and dressing room.  There, spread out on a mirrored dressing table, lay a collection of designer cosmetics and fragrances that cost hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars. 

“So this is how the other half lives,” she said, placing the dress on a padded hanger.     

She unwrapped the gauze from her hands and showered in a fog of steam and designer body wash.  Then she blow-dried her hair with a dryer she knew cost about a thousand dollars.  She tucked her hair up into a simple chignon and secured it with a few bejeweled bobby pins left lying on the dressing table top.  It took her just five minutes to select and apply a minimum of makeup: concealer, eyeliner, blush, and mascara, all in pretty but neutral colors.  For a finishing touch, she spritzed on a tiny bit of one of the expensive perfumes. 

When she’d hung up her towel and folded the pajamas into a neat little pile, she slipped her feet into the croc-embossed leather sandals and fastened the buckles.  Then she headed downstairs, anxious to talk to Sébastien and find out if his security team had found any evidence of the thief on the Cherbourg property.

Her heels clacked on the marble stairs and she winced.  It would be impossible to snoop around in these shoes, but they were so beautiful that she didn’t want to take them off just yet.  In the shower, it had crossed her mind that she should try to sneak back down to the vault
.  A
fter all, she hadn’t finished evaluating the entire collection.  As long as pieces were missing, it wasn’t like she could complete the job she’d been hired to do, but still—what if she found more pieces that matched the photos of her father’s stones?  There might still be evidence there she could take to the police. 

Ella felt a pang of guilt at the thought.  Sébastien wasn’t the one who had hurt her or her father, yet he was the one who would be inconvenienced by a police investigation.  It didn’t seem fair, but then again, growing up without a father hadn’t been fair to her.  If Sébastien’s father or grandfather had purchased stolen stones, the police had every right to confiscate them
and return them to their rightful owner—which would technically be her, since everything her father had owned had passed to her in his will. 

That thought was enough to give her pause. 
Uh-oh
, she thought. 
If any of this comes to light, he’ll think I’m doing it on purpose just to get at his money.
  But it wasn’t about the money, not at all.  Could she make him understand that, if and when the time came?

With her hand on the wrought-iron staircase railing, she stopped.  Whenever they got around to it, there would be a lot more to explain than her reasons for being there.  What, exactly, had happened between them yesterday? 

She remembered the kiss clearly and the surge of heat that had built up in her belly at the thought of what might follow it.  But for the rest of the day, he’d either ignored it or acted more like her big brother.  She knew she’d cried herself to sleep in his arms and she was grateful to him for letting her get it out of her system.  But there hadn’t been a word about feelings deeper than sympathy.

Was she making more of the kiss than she should?

No
, she thought. 
I know what I felt, and it wasn’t anything I’ve felt before.

She thought back to Joey, her longest relationship up to that point.  She’d met him at a museum fundraiser.  He was an independent filmmaker, a boisterous Italian whose parents and grandparents owned a restaurant in North Beach.  His lively brown eyes and ready smile had convinced her to go on a date with him.  He’d taken her to a trendy Mexican restaurant in the Mission, followed by drinks and dancing on the top floor of the Hyatt downtown.  The conversation had been light and easy, sprinkled with enough laughs so that she felt comfortable agreeing to a second date and then a third and fourth.

Over time, they settled into a routine that was as comfortable as their dates.  On Mondays, Wednesdays
,
and Fridays, they went out to eat and he slept over at her place.  On weekends, they’d have brunch at their favorite crepe restaurant and then catch a movie, visit Golden Gate Park or scout out new locations for his films. 

Although she tried very hard to convince herself she was in love with him, Ella always felt there was an invisible pane of glass between them, separating their thoughts and emotions.  They could share a bottle of wine and laugh at the same jokes, but when she kissed him or looked deeply into his eyes, she was never sure of what she found there.  It never made her body burn the way a single touch of Sébastien’s lips had. 

With the benefit of hindsight, she realized that should have been a warning sign.  Joey had never seemed very interested in her hobbies, interests or even her work, but he’d always paid close attention to her schedule so they could coordinate their time together.  She’d gone with him to several film shoots and he’d followed her to a couple of gemology conventions, but never into a client’s home or workplace. 

Then, as they were considering moving in together, he’d been arrested for burglary.  The cops had found him robbing a wealthy socialite who lived in Russian Hill—a woman whose famous ruby and diamond necklace she’d appraised just two weeks ago. 

Once she and the cops put two and two together, they matched up a string of break-ins and robberies to jobs she’d worked.  The only link between them was Joey.  At the police station, he confessed that he and several of his brothers had been using her client information to set up robberies for about a year.  It had taken that long for Joey to win her trust and get access to her computer files, where she stored her inventories and photographs. 

In the cold, dreary police station, she’d confronted him and asked him point-blank whether it had all been real or just a set-up.  With his trademark smile, he’d chucked her under the chin.  “Cheer up, baby,” he’d said.  “I ain’t never had a better score and that’s the truth.”  Then the cops led him away in shackles, his laughter echoing against the walls of the empty holding cell.

Never again, she swore.  How could she ever be sure a man wasn’t using her?  She’d fallen hook, line, and sinker for Joey’s trail of lies.  She’d had to go home and pack up his things, dropping the sealed box on the doorstep of his parents’ restaurant.  It was just like packing up her father’s things, before the child protective services agents dropped her with her aunt and uncle. 

The lesson she’d learned was that whether it was their own fault or not, men left her.  It might be through tragic violence, as with her father.  Or it might be through their own greed and duplicity, as with Joey.  Whatever the reason, the only way to avoid it was to avoid entanglements of any kind. 

And she had.  Diving into her work, she’d gained the museum’s full trust and become their preferred freelance gem historian.  Although she spent every night alone with books and the television, she went to sleep at night knowing everything would be exactly the same in the morning.  No threats, no surprises, no disappointments.  And with every job, she kept an eye out
for jewels or stones that could have come from her father’s collection—which was what had brought her here. 

You have a job to do
, she told herself. 
So stop mooning over the past and get to it.

She continued down the staircase and poked her head into a series of rooms, each more beautiful than the last, until she found the conservatory.  A miniature atrium, the room contained a high glass ceiling that looked out on the sky above and a cluster of wrought-iron furniture.  Delicate planters lined the walls, with tiny fruit trees and miniature rose bushes.  A wrought-iron sideboard held a pastry tray and a coffee set, bookended on either side with Roman-style columns holding enormous urns of flowers. 

Sébastien sat at the table, holding a newspaper.  He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit and black patent leather dress shoes.  His hair was sculpted and gelled, just like on the morning they’d first met. 
Was that only yesterday morning?
Ella thought, unable to believe how much had happened since then. 

When he heard the click of her shoes, he lowered the newspaper to greet her.  By the look on his face, she guessed she looked quite a bit better than she had last night.  She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he blinked quickly to clear his head.

Ella tried hard to hold back a smile.  “Thanks for telling Frau Müller to find me some clothes.  This is much better than my dirty, sweaty clothes from yesterday.”

“You look amazing,” he said, eyes traveling from the prim just-above-the-knee hem to the cinched waist.  “A string of pearls and you’d be a president’s wife.”

Ella smoothed the dress’s skirt proudly.  “Frau Müller’s note said your mother had this made in Paris in 1961.  She never wore it.”

“Her loss,” Sébastien said, tossing the paper onto an empty chair. 

There was a bitterness in his tone that she didn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole.  It wasn’t any of her business how he felt about his mother’s shopping habits.  But there was one thing she did want to bring up before the events of the day overwhelmed them both.  “Sébastien, thank you for listening to me last night.  I woke up this morning and I felt lighter that I have in years.  You were right.  I just needed to let some of it out.”  

“No kid should have to see what you saw.”

“I’ll never be completely rid of it,” she said.  “But thanks to you, I do feel like I’m a bit more in control today. 
W
hat’s going to happen next?”

He pushed back his sleeve to check his watch—a tasteful black and silver diver’s watch.  Not a blinged-out gold watch or a Rolex like she’d expected of someone with his wealth and position.  “The press conference is in two hours.”

“What are you going to tell everyone?”

“That the exhibition goes on as planned.”

“But it can’t,” she blurted.  “Not without the missing jewels!”

Sébastien got up from the table and moved to the sideboard.  He put a scone, clotted cream and a scoop of fresh fruit on the plate and handed it to her.  Then he smiled, a devastatingly handsome smile that would have convinced the devil to turn over the keys to hell. “Who else knows they’re missing?”

His smile made her knees knock together and she sat down at the table more quickly than she’d intended.  Her throat felt dry and she reached for a glass of water.  The cold water helped her gather her thoughts.  “You know.  I know.  Your security team knows.  So do
es
Frau Müller and Dr. O’Malley.”

He nodded, sitting back in his chair.  “That was unavoidable.  But no one else in my family knows.  No one at the museum knows.  And none of the police know.  As far as they’re concerned, the exhibition is going ahead as planned.  That’s what I want them to think.”

Ella shook her head.  Once again, he was behaving like a Cherbourg and ignoring the rules that applied to normal people.  “Sébastien,” she said.  “You’re forgetting something…a big something.  My evaluation isn’t done.  I have to turn that into the museum so their insurance company will sign off on the event.  How can I finish it when you’re still missing nineteen pieces from the collection?”

He picked up a grape and popped it into his mouth.  “You’re going to lie,” he said smoothly.  “You’re going to submit your report immediately following the press conference, certifying the origin and provenance of every piece in that collection.”

“I can’t do that.  You know I can’t, Sébastien.  This is my career we’re talking about.   It’s built on my reputation and my honesty.  I’d be shooting myself in the foot if I falsified my report, even for you.”

She already knew him well enough to recognize the flare of anger in his demeanor—the clenched jaw, the white knuckles visible where he grasped his coffee cup.  “You’d also be shooting yourself in the foot if you don’t,” he replied.

A sudden sinking feeling in her stomach forced her to put down the scone.  “What are you talking about?”

“No matter what happens, Ella, I’m still your client until the exhibition takes place.  I can give the museum a glowing letter of recommendation, or I can tell them you were completely unprofessional from start to finish, with lapses in judgment that almost ruined the exhibition.”

“That’s ridiculous!  They wouldn’t believe you!” 

But as soon as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true.  The museum couldn’t afford to back her if it meant losing the patronage of the city’s wealthiest family.  It would be her word against his, and no matter how much the director of the museum respected and liked her, he would be forced to agree with Sébastien, if only to keep the Cherbourg dollars rolling into museum coffers. 

Sébastien had her beaten and he knew it. 

She couldn’t believe she’d failed to see this coming.  In all the excitement of the previous day, she’d forgotten there was a ruthless man in control of her every move.  Once again, her judgment had failed her.  It was like Joey all over again—she’d been duped, used by a man who never had any intention of treating her fairly.  

“How dare you,” she hissed, standing up so abruptly she knocked her chair over.  “I never did anything to hurt you!  In case you’ve forgotten, I was with you yesterday when someone tried to kill us. 
In case you’ve forgotten, y
ou have bigger problems to worry about than my report.”